Persona Non Grata
by Sir Perfluous
Summary: After having been disgraced and court-martialed for a crime he did not commit, a young Osean fighter pilot finds himself transferred to the expendable penal unit known as Spare Squadron. With few options left, the only way to survive among convicts is to fall in with them... or die trying. (AC7) [Part 1 of the Lighthouse War Trilogy]
1. Birdcage

**Disclaimer: It probably goes without saying, but I don't own Ace Combat. Fanfic Authors even challenge the true sky.**

* * *

The roar of a distant jet engine filled the skies as the bright glare of the summer sun beat down on the runways of the airbase. I could already feel beads of sweat running down by neck as I was escorted off the transport plane by a sour faced airman on security detail. I could tell he didn't want to be here any more than I did and I couldn't blame him. It was clear this place was a dump. The 444th Air Base situated in Zapland was a run down outpost in south-east Usea that now served as the home for an Osean penal air squadron... one that would be my new home for the foreseeable future.

The airman gave me a light shove forward and directed me toward the offices of the base commander, some Colonel by the name of McKinsey. As we walked off the air strip and into the confines of the base, I could see that the place resembled more of a prison than a military installation. Atop the high fences were rows of barbed wire and the watchtowers had their machine guns pointed inside the base as opposed to the other way around. It made you wonder if the Colonel was more afraid of the people in here than he was of the Eruseans outside.

We continued walking and passed a few of the other people stationed here. I can only imagine they were fellow prisoners as they wore the same kind of dark green jumpsuit that I had been issued. The men had a feral unkempt look about them as they sat on some crates taking a rest from their work and smoking some cigarettes. They looked on in silence wearing emotionless looks on their face. Like a fierce pack of wolves, they were probably trying to size me up and see if they could prey on the "fresh meat" but I simply walked on and didn't show any expression on my face either. After a short walk, we finally came to an office building and entered. I took a minute to savor the feel of air conditioning before I was marched up to a door and waited as the guard knocked three times.

"Enter."

We entered a messy office where paperwork and boxes were strewn about the place haphazardly. We halted in front of a desk where a graying man in his fifties sat going over some folders. He wore an OADF uniform and had a stern look about him as he didn't even bother looking up. He simply mumbled in annoyance, "What is it?"

The airman gave a salute, "Colonel McKinsey. I've delivered the new prisoner transfer as ordered."

McKinsey removed his glasses and looked up with a nod, "Thank you Airman. Dismissed."

The guard gave another salute and left the room leaving me with the base commander. He regarded me with a hard calculating look before folding his hands, "Well, I guess I should feel honored. It's not every day I get to meet a President-killer."

I probably should have expected that. It seemed everyone on this base was going to be an asshole but I ignored the insult and raised my hand to salute, "Sir. I am Lieutenant..."

"I already know who you are," McKinsey interrupted as he tossed aside a file folder, "And to be honest, I really don't give a damn. As far as I'm concerned, all of you convicts forfeited the right to your real names when you disgraced the Osean air force. Your call-sign had been Trigger, wasn't it?"

"Yes sir."

"Then that's what it's going to stay so long as you're under my command, is that understood?" he asked.

"Yes sir."

"Good, because let me tell you something else Trigger," McKinsey said as he got up and walked over to stand in front of me, "Your old rank means nothing to us here. You're not an officer anymore so don't go thinking you're special in any way. You're just like the rest of your new squadmates here... expendable. As you know, we're still fighting a war here meaning you will be expected to serve the needs of the Osean Federation and complete the objectives I give you, or you die trying."

I swallowed hard and continued to stand at attention, "I understand Colonel."

He nodded and picked up some papers from his desk before handing them to me, "These are your orders and documents to give to the quartermaster. Oh... and one other thing. Considering everyone knows what you did, some of those guys in your squad might actually be happy about it. Don't think for a minute you're going to be some big shot around here. Those guys are scum and villains. They are not your friends and neither am I. Now get out of my sight."

"Sir," I said before turning and heading out the door. Once clear, I stopped and looked at the transfer papers in my hand and grimaced slightly. I suddenly began to miss my old friends and wingmates that I had flown with. In this new hostile environment, it wasn't until now that I had begun to feel truly alone.

* * *

Later that day, I carried a dufflebag filled with issued clothes and supplies as I made my way into the base's dingy barracks where my new squadmates' living quarters were located. By all accounts, it wasn't much to look at and the rooms looked more like large prison cells. I had been told we could move freely within certain sections of the base or in areas that we were required to do work on. Otherwise, at 20:00 hours we had to be inside our cell blocks for lights out. The lights seemed to barely function and the ceiling fans rotated slowly, barely generating enough air to be of any use in this sweltering summer heat.

When I came to my cell block, I found my roommate already there. He was lounging on his cot reading a book but the moment I set foot in the cell, he looked up curiously to greet me. He was a young man, probably not much older than me. He had a long lanky build with fair skin and sandy brown features; a little scruffy and unkempt but he surprised me when he got up to offer me his hand with a cheerful smile, "Hey. You must be my new roomie. Welcome to Purgatory."

I couldn't help but snort and give a little grin as I shook his hand, "Huh... I must have taken a wrong turn. Those rats and cockroaches down the hall gave me bad directions."

The man laughed and stepped aside so that I could set my bag down, "You'll lean to adjust. Trust me."

"You've been here a while?"

"Just a couple months," he said, "I've been here since roughly around the time the war started. The name's Tabloid."

"Trigger," I replied as I unloaded my bag, "You must be a pilot too, eh?"

He nodded quietly and remained quiet before I gave a sigh, "I'm guessing you were going to ask about why I'm here?"

Tabloid grimaced and shrugged before checking to make sure no one else was around, "So... is it really true? Did you really shoot down the former President's aircraft near the International Space Elevator?"

I paused and frowned quietly, "No... at least... I don't think so. It all happened so fast. There were so many missiles flying through the air during that skirmish and when President Harling's chopper made that abrupt turn..."

Tabloid nodded quietly, "You know, it's always possible that the Osean government was just looking for a scapegoat. I mean, we heard the operation went to hell and with all the other shit that's been going down lately I wouldn't be surprised if they needed some people to blame."

"Are you saying you're one of them?" I asked curiously.

Tabloid gave a sardonic laugh, "Maybe. Let's just say I haven't been too happy with our government and they didn't want to hear what I had to say either."

I walked over to the small sink and ran some water to splash my face. As I toweled off, I looked in the mirror trying to see if I could really view myself as the convict everyone else thought I was. Nothing had changed about my short black hair or my blue eyes. I was still clean shaven and I still saw an Osean Air Force officer looking right back at me. Part of me was determined not to let that change.

Tabloid noticed my pause and flopped back down on his cot to read, "If I were you, I'd cut back on the shaving there buddy. The quartermaster is slow to give us razors and the base commanders don't seem to care what we look like either. Besides, you might want to fit in around here, right?"

I gave a solemn look in the mirror before taking out my razor and shaving anyway.

* * *

The next day, I had lunch in the messhall with Tabloid and we found a small table at one end of the room away from the noise and bustle of the other people present. I took a moment to study the sorry looking meal on my tray. Lunch today was a bowl of beef and vegetable stew, easy on the beef, along with a glass of water and a chunk of half stale bread. Tabloid didn't seem to bothered and dipped his bread in the soup to soften it up, "Heh... today's a good day. There's no mold on the bread. Small blessings, right?"

I shrugged and glanced across the room, only to be surprised by the sight of a young woman sitting by herself at a corner table. She was a slim athletic woman with tan skin and a very short pixie style haircut. She seemed to have a permanent scowl etched across her face and she read a Popular Mechanics magazine as she ate quietly. "Hmm. I don't remember seeing her yesterday."

Tabloid looked up and followed my gaze, "Oh, you mean Avril over there? Good luck trying to talk to her. That chick's got a bad attitude, but I will say this. She's a hell of a mechanic."

"She's military?"

Tabloid shook his head, "I don't think so. Some MP told me she was a civilian who did something really crazy to get thrown in here when the war with Erusea broke out... something about building her own jet plane, I think."

"You're kidding," I muttered in awe.

"As far as I know, she mostly keeps to herself and wrenches on the planes," Tabloid shrugged and gave a longing sigh, "But I'll be honest. A girl who knows her way around a jet turbine is pretty hot in my book."

I raised an eyebrow and gave my roommate a wry smile before he cleared his throat and pointed behind me with some urgency, "Uh oh. Trouble on your six. It's the Three Stooges."

I didn't even have time to turn around when three men came and approached our table. I recognized those guys. They were the same men who were smoking and watching me the day I had arrived on the base. The guy who looked to be their leader stepped forward. He was a scruffy guy with fair shoulder length hair and a sort of pretty boy look about him. He put his boot up on the bench next to where I was sitting and casually rested on it with a faux genial smile, "Well well... if it isn't the new guy. How do you like our little slice of paradise here?"

"I'm managing okay. Thanks," I answered in a non-committal way while they circled like wolves.

He grinned, "Good. Because it's probably a good idea you learn the chain of command around here. The name's Count, and I'm the best pilot in Spare Squadron here. These are my two buddies. Say hi to High Roller and Champ."

High Roller was a slightly older guy who idly shuffled a deck of cards in his hand while the other guy named Champ cracked his knuckles. He seemed to have dark features and a pretty large muscular build. Maybe he had been some kind of boxer or wrestler? I simply nodded a greeting and continued eating my stew, "Gentlemen."

Count waited patiently and leaned over, "Come on friend... don't be shy. Aren't you going to introduce yourself?"

I stopped eating and looked up slowly, "My name is Trigger."

The other guys began to chuckle and laugh. "Trigger? What the hell kind of name is Trigger?" Champ chortled, "Is it because he always gets triggered?"

"It's because I'm pretty good with a handgun," I corrected him patiently, "Back home I competed in some marksmanship and trick shooting competitions so they always joked about me having an itchy trigger finger."

"The same kind of itchy trigger finger that killed President Harling at the Lighthouse?" Count taunted with a smug grin.

I decided not to take the bait so I gave him a thin smile and went back to my stew, "Listen buddy, you probably heard a lot of things, but you can think whatever you want."

Count kept poking, "Oh? You know what I think? I think you've got a pretty high opinion of yourself. You must think that you're hot shit or something. Well let me tell you something Mr. Trigger. Respect isn't given. It's earned around here. You go up there and you do something amazing in the air, then maybe we'll think about treating you like an equal human being."

"Okay. Got it," I said bluntly.

"Until then... you learn your place around here," Count said as he took a spoon and began to eat some of my food.

I growled in irritation but Tabloid was already getting up from his seat, "Hey lay off him Count. Don't be such a dick."

"No one was asking you string-bean," Champ answered as he pushed Tabloid back down. My roommate moved again and grabbed Count's forearm to stop him but Count splashed the soup in Tabloid's face while Champ got even rougher with the lanky man.

"Hey, leave him alone!" I sprung from my seat and smashed a fist into Count's face splitting his lip with a punch before Champ was on me. The big guy caught me with a right hook and my head swam as I staggered back. That was sure to leave a black eye, but I could worry about that later. Before I knew what was happening I began to wrestle him as he threw his shoulder into me causing even more of a ruckus. Moments later, the fight was broken up by some guards who rushed in and restrained all of us who had been scuffling. As one of them put me in a headlock and choked me roughly, I could hear the sergeant who was present give orders to his men.

"All right. Take these convicts out and throw them in the cooler. That'll shut them up."

I had barely been here two days and I was probably going to be on Col. McKinsey's shit-list already. This was not the way I was wanting to start things off here.

* * *

I was taken to a solitary holding cell out in the yard. A few other metal boxes sat nearby for other offenders and they didn't look like inviting places. I was tossed inside and locked within the box only to be left in darkness save for an open slit that had been cut out in the box to let in some air and some light. I lay on the floor of the box, sweating in the heat and alone with my own thoughts. Time passed and I couldn't tell how long I had been there. An hour? Several hours? Maybe a day? As I lay in the darkness, my mind began to wander back to different places. I thought about home. I thought about my hopes and dreams when I joined Osea's armed forces. I thought of my former wingmates and the harrowing battle over the rainforests with that Arsenal Bird. I thought about the death of President Harling and if I had been imagining things... that maybe I was in fact responsible for it and if I was, maybe I was being punished for my sins now. Most of all, I thought of the skies... of once again being able to fly free into the blue heavens so that I could get away from this hellish pit that I found myself in.

I had been so lost in my own mind, I didn't hear the doors of the box open. Two armed guards came in and hauled me up roughly by the shoulders. The glare of the summer sun that was streaming in from outside blinded me and I stumbled in weak disorientation. The man at the door of the box was only a shadowy outline but he gestured to the guards, "Get him up and bring him along."

Who are you? Where are you taking me?" I croaked as they dragged me out.

The outline of the man gave an imperious chuckle, "That's none of your concern. As far as I know, some shit is about to go down and the Colonel has some special plans for you."


	2. Clipped Wings

What happened next was still a bit foggy. I remember being dragged to the base's infirmary where I was cleaned up and given some fluids and food before being told to rest a while. As I lay on the cot fading in and out of sleep, my mind must have played tricks on me as I heard echoes of my former friends from Mage Squadron.

 _I walked down a familiar runway back in Osea with my old squadron leader and mentor. To me, he was Mage 1. To his friends, he went by his call-sign of Clown. As we walked, we chatted idly on the way toward some hangers in the near distance. He wore a paternal smile as he led me toward our planes, "You know, I'm always glad to see some new blood in the unit, but it's even better when I don't have to teach them how to fly either. I heard you got top marks in flight school Trigger."_

 _"Just looking forward for a chance to serve and to show my stuff, sir," I answered._

 _Clown chuckled, "You've got a great opportunity here kid... being placed with a veteran squadron. You have a chance to learn a lot more and do some pretty involved stuff. I hope you know I'm going to be expecting a lot out of you."_

 _"Yes sir," I nodded as we reached the hanger and gave a wave to a female pilot who was heading out. She was a cute brunette and I think she went by the call-sign Brownie. "If I can be honest sir, I'm just a little worried about fitting in with the rest of the team. I've never been one of those charming life of the party types."_

 _Clown slapped my shoulder, "Let me tell you something kid. There are two things that all pilots recognize and respect above all else; experience and skill. You can talk a big game and be Mister Personality, but that won't guarantee you a spot as squadron leader. When the chips are down and you're in a hairy dogfight, your wingmates need to know that they can trust you and look to you to get through. When you lead by example and let your actions speak for themselves, people will take notice. Trust me on that."_

As the dreamlike vision of Clown faded, I woke up to the harsh glare of florescent light from the ceiling fixtures above. I was back in the infirmary of the 444th Air Base. I hated to accept it, but I was back in hell after all. I rolled out of the medical bed and staggered over to the mirror. I glanced at my reflection and took note of the shiner that Champ had gifted me with. It was already a bit swollen and turning a delightful shade of bluish purple and I reminded myself to thank Champ when I next had the chance. The only comfort I took from that fight was the thought that I had managed to give Count a fat lip to go with his big mouth. Once I got myself together and dressed, I heard a knock at the door and Tabloid entered.

"Hey Trigger, there you are. Are you okay?"

"I've been better, but I'll live," I mumbled, "I'm guessing you're not here on a social call?"

Tabloid shook his head, "Official business I'm afraid. The doctors just cleared you and I came by to pick you up. Let's get a move on."

I stopped, "Tabloid? What the hell is going on? I just got dragged out of solitary. The MP's were saying something about McKinsey having plans for me."

"If it makes you feel any better, I'm going too," he said, "He wants a handful of us prisoners to report to the briefing rooms near the air field."

"Any idea what this is about?"

Tabloid shook his head, "No clue. But I guess we're going to find out soon, huh? Hurry up. We can't keep the others waiting."

Once outside the infirmary, we were driven across the base by some MP's on a jeep until we reached the main hangers and airfield of the 444th. We were escorted into a building and told to sit down in a large briefing room where we were greeted by other members of the penal unit and Colonel McKinsey himself. The stocky colonel regarded us gruffly while the lights went dim and an electronic display lit up on the wall behind him showing some strategic maps and data from our intel officers.

"Gentlemen... thank you for coming," McKinsey said with sarcasm dripping in his voice, "I'm sure you're probably asking yourselves why I brought you here today. I'll answer that in a minute. First, I wanted to introduce you to your newest squadmate who's just been transferred here."

He gestured directly at me, I" hear there's been a lot of talk and rumors going around the base and I'll let you in on some juicy info. The new guy here was found guilty by the IUPF's court martial. He is the murderer of former President Harling in the flesh."

There was a loud murmur in the room along with a few low whistles as heads slowly turned to look at me. Despite what I wanted to say, I felt like I wanted to sink back down into my chair and disappear completely. Unfortunately, McKinsey didn't seem inclined to show me any such mercy.

"His TAC name's Trigger. Now, as of today, he may be attached to the Osean Air Force Base 444th Squadron, but that is just some symbolic bullshit. It doesn't really matter if he's Harling's murderer or not. Every last one of you has been incarcerated for one reason or another. You cons have an obligation to atone for your crimes."

"Okay... so what does that have to do with us?" Count piped up from a few chairs down.

"A few of you in the penal unit know how to fly, and HQ needs to plug the deficit in our air force," the colonel answered, "They proposed sending you guys on a recon mission to the Wiapolo Mountains. But that idea was flat out rejected. Nope, you'll be atoning for your crimes right here at this base."

He brought up a new display of the region and gestured to the map, "This base is a decoy designed to draw enemy fire, and as members of this base you'll be taking hits from the enemy. This will allow our forces to safely prepare a counterattack."

Just then, the display screens flashed red as a low siren went off. One of the colonel's aides stood nearby going through an electronic tablet and he looked up, "Sir! We have incoming enemies!"

"Switch off the alarm! It's just the usual!" the colonel snarled in annoyance as the siren was muffled and another murmur swept across the briefing room.

I turned to Tabloid, "The usual? What is he talking about?"

Tabloid kept his voice down and waggled his finger, "Every so often, we've been getting bombed by Erusean forces, even since before you arrived. This whole location has been a decoy to draw the enemy's attention and keep them preoccupied."

McKinsey muttered, "I thought Zapland was supposed to be an isolated area. Okay... I'm going to need a few aircraft to scramble."

This was met by a chorus of loud groans and protests from the prisoners assembled. Count sighed, "Again?"

"I wonder how many we'll lose today," High Roller added darkly while Tabloid shrugged.

"Well, it's still better than solitary."

I looked around in confusion, "Just what is going on here? Are we being used as cannon fodder or something?"

"Hey, you're not as dumb as you look," Count snidely remarked toward me. His lip was still swollen and scabbed over but unfortunately, it was still intact, "You're expendable here, remember? Welcome to Spare Squadron."

The colonel's aide spoke up again, "Sir. We have enemy aircraft en route toward the dummy runway."

McKinsey nodded, "We just need to make it look like we can put up a fight. Some of those piles of junk in the hangers can at least take off. Let's get the guiltiest cons in the sky first. We'll start with Harling's murderer. We don't expect you to down any bombers, but what we do want is for them to think we've got an active base here."

He gestured in the direction of the hangers, "All right, Operation High Card is a go! Count, Tabloid, Full Band, High Roller, and Champ. You're up along with Trigger. Grab some gear and get to it!"

* * *

Spare Squadron was scrambled and I was issued some old flight gear that had seemed to show its age, both in its appearance and smell. Once we had suited up and entered the hangers, we were greeted by the sight of a ground crew servicing several fighter planes that looked like they had seen better days. As far as I could tell, there was no uniform model of aircraft flown by Spare Squadron, and it looked like the 444th took whatever ramshackle fighters they could salvage and get back into the skies. I headed over toward an empty plane that was familiar to me, an F-15C but one of the older pilots, a guy by the name of Full Band caught my shoulder and stopped me. "Whoah. Hold on a minute kid. That one isn't yours."

He gestured over to where Count was already heading over and mounting a ladder to get into the fighter's cockpit. I gave a disappointed sigh, "All right. Which one is mine then?"

Full Band walked me across the hanger until we came to an old rickety MiG-21 Fishbed, most likely a relic salvaged from one of the past wars on the continent. I stared in silent horror and disbelief at the cylindrical aircraft, "Really? You've got to be kidding me. A MiG-21? This thing looks like a piece of crap!"

Full Band crossed his arms and laughed, "Sorry kid. You're the new guy and the low man on the totem pole. You get whatever we can spare for you. Beggars can't be choosers."

"I'm going to get blown out of the sky in that thing!" I protested as I walked closer to give the old rust-bucket a quick inspection. My eyes drifted up and I noticed something else unusual about my plane's markings. On the tails were three lines of white paint that were streaked across covering up any kind of insignias or unit numbers. "What's all this?"

Full Band sighed, "Allow me to educate you kid. In this unit, you get your tail marked with scratches. The more scratches, the more heinous the crime. We call em "sin lines."

I blinked, "I have three lines."

He gave me a slap on the back and started to walk off toward his own jet, "Well, you are Harling's murderer after all. Happy hunting."

I watched him leave while wearing a look of silent dismay before turning back to scrap fighter. I had never really considered myself a religious man but this was one of those times I really wanted to offer a prayer to whatever higher power would hear me. I took a deep breath and put on my flight helmet before heading up the nearby ladder to board the old MiG. Soon enough I had powered on the old junker and followed my squadmates out of the hangers toward the runways of the air base. The controls and configuration of instruments on this aircraft weren't familiar, but I figured it was manageable enough. If I was going to have to prove my status as an ace, I had to learn fast.

By now, we could hear sirens sounding on the air base as the Erusean enemies arrived in our airspace. Their bombers had already begun attacking our dummy runway and the distant thudding sounds of their bombs could be heard from here. As Spare Squadron continued to taxi, I heard the voice of our AWAC's controller on my radio, a guy with the call sign of Bandog. "Follow orders and taxi to the runway Trigger. Check your altimeter and wait in front there. Your call-sign is Spare 15. Consider it your prisoner number for the air."

Before I could reply, I was interrupted by Champ's voice, "Control, would you kindly send me up first?"

With bombs falling all over the air base, I could understand why Champ would be itching to get off the ground quickly and I can't say I blamed him. We were sitting ducks on the taxiway.

Bandog answered sharply, "Spare 8. Champ! This is the control tower. You're not cleared for takeoff. Obey orders!"

"Go to hell," Champ answered with a sneer as he cut the radio and moved his plane forward to cut ahead of the other squad members.

He turned a corner onto the main runway and began to power his engines while the Bandog was likely having an apoplectic fit in the control tower. "All aircraft preparing for takeoff, watch out for Spare 8. He's forcing a takeoff!"

Champ laughed to himself over the comms, "I'll take up command here boys, any objections?"

"That will be decided in the skies," Count answered with a derisive snort.

I could only shake my head to myself in quiet dread as I fastened my oxygen mask and flipped down my visor. How did these guys guys even pass as pilots before? They sounded more like complete egomaniacs and sociopaths right now. They seemed more concerned with fighting with each other over who would lead the squadron rather than fighting the enemy together as a team. It would be a miracle if any of us survived this sortie.

I was finally given clearance and throttled down the runway before effecting a fast takeoff into the skies. The stick seemed a little heavy and sluggish but I had to work with what I got. If only for a moment, I was free again and sailing through the clear blue skies doing what I loved. I could already hear Champ give a whoop as he took into the air to chase the enemy, "Woohoo! My blood's boiling!"

"Make sure to toss that chump in solitary once he gets back," our air controller snarled while Tabloid laughed.

"IF he gets back."

High Roller took off after me once I cleared the runway, "Anyone want to make a bet on that?"

"Cut the chatter Spares. You've got a job to do," Bandog chided us as the rest of our squadron got airborne.

I banked my fighter in a wide turn to come about and get a better read of the airspace. A pair of Erusean bombers were being painted by our radars along with a couple Su-33's flying high escort to keep watch. Now if only the rest of my squadmates would even bother squaring up into some formation too. I moved to line up an angle on an enemy bomber but my targeting brackets would not go red. I hit the trigger on the joystick but was shocked when nothing happened either.

"Spare 15 to Control, I have an issue. My weapon systems are unresponsive."

"That's because the FCS on our planes are locked genius," Count sniped over the radio.

Bandog snorted in smug agreement, "Prisoners use nothing without supervision. Not even pencils."

"So what's the point of us carrying ordinance here? How the hell are we supposed to fight off the bombers?" I called back through gritted teeth as the Erusean fighter escorts moved to target us from above.

"Our job isn't to fight," High Roller answered as our planes scattered in the wake of the Erusean Flankers, "We're decoys, remember? All we can do is buzz those bandits and try to scare them off."

"He's right," Bandog cut in, "We just want you to make a lot of noise to make the enemy think we have more fighters at the base. So if you die, jut think of it as atoning for your sins."

"What a generous offer Control. Much appreciated," I quipped back sarcastically as I swerved to evade an incoming Erusean fighter. My fighter's airframe rattled and creaked from the stress of the maneuver and I feared for a moment that my left wing might shear off.

"And one other thing," Bandog announced over the radio, "Any aircraft leaving the operation area will be shot down. Do you hear me?"

How could I not hear him? This situation just went from bad to worse. The enemy bombers were setting up to make another pass on the air base and the fighter bandits were screaming past us again. They could probably see they were facing an inferior foe and now they were just toying with us. McKinsey knew we'd never have a chance up here, even if we were fighting with one arm tied behind our backs. I didn't feel like dying today and I refused to do so in such a humiliating way. All I needed to do was to stay alive and buy myself more time to figure out a new plan. As the Ersuean fighters dove down toward our disorderly formation, I started to worry that time was something Spare Squadron had just run out of.


	3. Birds of Prey

The Erusean Flankers roared down from the heavens and pounced upon Spare Squadron causing us to scatter and take evasive actions. In a way, it almost looked like a pair of hawks harrying a flock of helpless ducks in midair. Amid the chaotic scramble, I throttled up and took a sharp turn to shake off an enemy Flanker that had spotted me. He probably saw I was flying an outdated aircraft and might be the weak link in the squadron. As he closed and trying to get a line on me, I heard my warning buzzer alert me I was being painted for a missile lock.

I had been dogfights before and getting threatened by an enemy's targeting system was nothing new. In this case, things were a bit different. I didn't have the benefit of an equal or better aircraft than my foes. I juked and rolled to try and shake him before I heard the missile alert go off. I climbed higher and rolled right, hitting a switch to fire off some flares and to my relief, those actually worked. The plume of fire trailed after me causing the offending missile to go wide but not before I came under fire from the Flanker's guns.

My MiG rattled and I could hear the distinct sound of several rounds hitting my fuselage. In a desperate gambit, I cut my speed and tumbled free performing a Split-S maneuver while the Flanker buzzed by to pick up another target. A quick glance at my gauges gave some reassuring news: no major damage or loss of fuel pressure.

By now, the Erusean bombers had made another pass on the airbase and dropped a string of bombs which concentrated mostly on the dummy runway. I could hear High Roller laughing, "Look at them. Blowing up a whole bunch of paper planes."

"The enemy seems to think our air force is concentrated on this base," Tabloid agreed while I witnessed several planes parked on the runway get blasted apart.

"Wait... those are fake decoy planes too?"

"Everything on the ground there is fake," Full Band explained as he shook off a Flanker.

"I heard the Scrap Queen, that girl Avril's been the one making everything look nice and authentic down there," Tabloid mused idly.

I simply laughed and teased my roommate, "I'll be sure to pass along the compliment and tell her you said that."

"Oh, ha ha. You're really funny Trigger."

Just then, another string of bombs exploded and we could hear our air controller Bandog give a snarl, "Damn it! They just hit the tower grounds!"

There was a string of confused voices talking over each other from the AWACs team before Bandog spoke again, "Spare Squadron, listen up! Shoot down everything carrying bombs. Your weapons are freed. You are clear to engage! Show no mercy!"

"Righto!" Count answered while High Roller chuckled.

"I think I'm going to have to rethink the odds now."

I checked my instruments and saw a small light around my weapon systems go from red to green. Now we were in business.

"All right, I'm assuming command. Everybody support me. I'll show you all how it's done," Count announced as he angled around and leveled off.

"In your dreams," Champ snorted defiantly over the radio.

I eyed the battlefield and saw two enemy bombers circle around and prepare for a final run. Those were the priority targets but Count and his wingmates seemed more intent on trying to dogfight the Flankers. I could almost hear the words of Clown ringing in my ears about leadership so I decided to try something. I'd appeal to Count's vanity. "Hey Count! You said you were the best pilot in Spare Squadron. How about you put your money where your mouth is and prove it to me. I'll bet you can't take down one of those Flankers."

High Roller laughed again, "Did someone say the B-word? Let me get some of that action."

If Count and his crew could keep those Flankers busy, I figured it might buy me enough time to knock all those bombers down before they caused some real damage to the base. He scoffed, "You're on Trigger! Watch and learn!"

As he roared off after the fighters, I ignored him and turned my sights on the bombers, moving to get a lock on them. The enemy seemed to realize what my plan was but only when it was too late. The brackets went red and I let loose a pair of heat seekers, "Spare 15, Fox-2."

The missiles streaked across the skies and found their mark, shredding the tail off one while the other ignited the turbine of another. Both bombers lurched and tumbled from the skies in fiery balls of shrapnel, "Spare 15, splash two."

The kills weren't lost on Count who sniffed, "Trigger. Keep an eye on your head count. We can compare notes later."

"Yeah, I'm sure your report will be dressed up real pretty," Tabloid interjected sarcastically as he fell in line on my wing.

"Look alive Spares. More enemy fighters and bombers inbound," Bandog alerted us while the other Spares locked in a dogfight with the Su-33's. To the north, our radars were pinging a new flight of Erusean bombers escorted by another pair of Flankers.

"Tabloid, let's lock and load."

We flew on a low approach and angled in to hit the new bombers from below as they descended from their cruising altitude. We each fired a missile and hit two of the bombers on their undersides causing them to split apart in midair before exploding. The escorts buzzed by us raining gunfire and missiles that Tabloid and I evaded by splitting our formation. Just as I lined up another shot on a bomber, I was surprised when Count came roaring in and dove on my target. He fired his missile first and blew its wing clean off. "Sorry Trigger. I'm not going to let you get the high score today without a fight. Besides, targets that slow are hardly a challenge."

I gave a mild snort to myself with a mixture of annoyance and amusement at the same time. Count was still goading me on so as long as we were up here, I'd play his game. I locked on to the last bomber of the flight and blew it out of the skies with my fourth shot, "All right. I can see why you get your name. You're always keeping count here."

"Spare Squadron! Quit dicking around," Bandog cut in over the radio with a reproving tone, "The bombers are gone, but we still need you to clear the airspace of those Flankers."

Champ was the first to pipe up as he was chomping at the bit for more dogfighting, "All right, what are we waiting for? Let's kick some ass already!"

"No, wait!" I called as I broke formation and turned my MiG to meet the Su-33's, "I have a plan."

I knew the Eruseans had better planes than us here and likely better pilots too. We wouldn't beat them in a straight up fight, so we had to use some deception. I figured the Flankers would still pick me out as a weak target and I planned to use that to my advantage, "Spare Squadron, I'm going to act as a lure for those Flankers. Once I bait them and draw their fire, get an angle and take them out."

"Trigger? Are you crazy?" Tabloid protested while Count voiced equal disapproval.

"Yeah, who died and put you in command of the squadron anyway?"

I gave an audible growl over my radio, "I'm offering you a chance to shoot down the Erusuans without sticking your necks out. I want to try and survive this fight so unless any of you jokers have a better idea, I'm all ears."

There was a long silence over the comms before Tabloid called back, "Ok. I'm with you Trigger."

There were a few more responses of "Roger that," from the squadron before High Roller gave a loud hearty laugh, "Don't get shot down now Trigger. I've got good money riding on your survival. Some guys have got big money saying you're going down so watch your back."

Bandog cut in again with annoyance, "Spare 7, shut up already!"

Good grief, 'was everyone in this squadron a sociopath?' I wondered quietly to myself before I throttled forward to catch the eyes of the Erusean Flanker pilots. A few sprays of gunfire from my cannon did the trick and the Erusean fighters angled in toward me from the flanks. Before they could get a missile lock, I roared forward and split their formation causing them them to double back and give chase. Against more modern aircraft like the Su-33's, I wasn't going to be able to beat them in turning and maneuvering so I had to be sneaky and unpredictable. As my warning buzzers went off again from being targeted by multiple bandits, I could only hope the other Spares were moving to back me up.

I pushed the engines and did my best to try and throw off the enemy by flying into some low clouds and pulling some corkscrews and rolling turns. The old airframe of my MiG rattled some more and creaked under the stresses while the missile warnings began to blare. One of the offending heatseekers went high and wide past me but turned back slightly to chase me while another was launched directly toward my tailpipe. I expended a few more flares from the rear of my aircraft scattering the missiles while I desperately jerked the joystick to juke from side to side and shake off another missile lock. Damn it! Where were those guys already?

My question was answered when Count and Champ streaked in from some cloud-cover and caught two of the Flankers by surprise. Their missiles hit home and reduced the Erusean bandits to scrap. I could already hear Count celebrating another air-to-air kill, "Yeah! First come, first served!"

Despite my comrades' surprise attack, one more bandit continued to pursue me. Whoever he was, he was not shaken by the loss of his two wingmates and he seemed intent on gunning me down in revenge. I could see the bandit throttling up to quickly close the distance and I knew that my options were limited. He'd still be able to catch me whether I dove or climbed. I decided on one more risky gambit. I abruptly cut my speed and pulled a tight aileron roll over the wing of my surprised pursuer as he roared past. For a several heart-pounding moments, he was suddenly in front of me now and my targeting brackets went red with a lock. I let loose my last two missiles which tagged the Erusean Flanker and blew it to pieces in midair. The flaming wreckage streaked through the air toward the nearby ocean while the Flanker's wings sheared off and spiraled away with smoke plumes.

"Yeah! My man! Trigger again!" High Roller called with a celebratory cheer as the remaining bandits turned and withdrew from the airspace.

"All right! Look at those Erusean chickens run!" Full Band laughed over the radio while Tabloid angled over and lined back up along my wing.

"I can't believe you made it Trigger. You okay?"

I ripped off my oxygen mask and gave a deep sigh of relief, "I'll be a lot better once I land. I'm not sure this Fishbed can take much more punishment."

High Roller joined alongside my other wing, "Hell yeah. Still alive Harling's murderer? Your dinner's on me tonight."

Bandog radioed in with a snide tone in his voice, "Spare 7, what if the one you bet on dies while landing?"

"Then you win, I guess. So what? You're not done?"

"Just checking," our air controller replied before cutting out.

Count gave a snort and led the squadron back toward the runways, "Righto. Come on Spares. Let's not keep the prison wardens waiting."

One by one, the members of Spare Squadron made their landings on the main runway. As they did, I noticed Bandog kept passing me over and giving landing clearance to everyone else first. One would think maybe it was because I was the newest member of the squadron and there was a pecking order, but as time passed, I began to think Bandog really was being a malevolent asshole. He had obviously wagered money on my demise and I now threatened to set him back with my success. He was probably hoping my plane would either fall apart or run out of fuel before I even had to chance to land so I was determined not to give him that satisfaction.

I was finally given clearance to land and I angled in toward the runway, being sure to level off and gradually reduce my airspeed. I had grown accustomed to landing on aircraft carriers while flying with Mage Squadron so this was going to be a piece of cake. The landing gear deployed and the Fishbed touched down with a few bumps before the brakes brought my aircraft to a safe stop on the tree lined runway. I couldn't help but smile a little as I radioed the tower, "Spare 15 to Tower. I'm home."

I heard an audible growl of annoyance on the other end as Bandog gave a sour reply, "Acknowledged. Oh, and one other thing... I lost a lot of money on this today Trigger. Don't forget that, because I won't."

As much as I wanted to radio back and tell our AWACs controller to get bent, I decided against it. Having him lose money was victory enough, but the greatest reward was having survived that battle. As I began to taxi my fighter off the runway and into the hangers nearby, I couldn't help but wonder if every battle was going to be like this from now on? Would it bring another retaliatory attack from the Eruseans? And what about my wingmates? I could tell High Roller was already pleased, though I wondered how the rest of my squad would feel about my stunts today. I didn't really feel like trading punches with Count and Champ over dinner so all I could do was expect the worst and hope for the best.


	4. Clearing the Air

After returning to the air base proper, the pilots of Spare Squadron were herded back into a room adjoined to the hangers where Colonel McKinsey was waiting to debrief us on the action. As we gathered and stood around, he took a long moment to study a display screen which generated data which had been gathered of the skirmish in the air. He slowly looked up and regarded us with a hint of amusement, "Well I'll be damned. You lot all came back in one piece and chased off the enemy too. I'm not sure how I should feel about that."

"You'll have to try a lot harder than that to try and kill us sir," Count remarked before the colonel laughed and waved him off, "Don't give yourself too much credit out there. If anything, you guys owe your sorry asses to Trigger here."

He turned to look at me, "That was a crazy stunt you pulled back there son. Do you have some kind of deathwish?"

"No sir. It was a calculated risk," I said calmly, "I knew I couldn't beat those Su-33's alone, so I placed some trust in my new squadmates to assist, and they did."

McKinsey crossed his arms and studied me with a curious frown, "You're actually saying you were willing to trust these low lives out there, after everything you saw?"

"I wanted to survive sir. I think these guys do too," I answered.

I looked over to the rest of Spare Squad but they remained stone faced and quiet, making it hard to read their mood. Finally, the colonel gave a laugh, "Damn Trigger, I thought you were crazy already. I just didn't think you were delusional on top of it."

He raised a finger and idly walked by me, "Tell me this Trigger. What if one day in the future, I decide you might actually be of some use to me? Maybe I decide to order your squadron off on another sortie. You think the rest of these guys would be willing to place the same kind of trust in you?"

"I don't know Colonel," I said honestly, "I guess I'd be willing to find out. If that will be all?"

McKinsey snorted and waved us off, "Get out of here. Dismissed."

* * *

Some time later that day, I was allowed to take a shower and change before heading back to the messhall for dinner. I was tired, hungry, and the simple comfort of a hot meal sounded all the more appealing. Once there, I got in line, filled my plate, and headed out into the dining area to eat. I walked over to an open table in the messhall and stopped when I heard some of the people quiet down and listen to the television that had been mounted on a nearby wall. It was normally broadcasting one of the major Osean cable news channels. For the past two months, the majority of coverage had been devoted to chronicling every new development of the Lighthouse War as it had come to be called. How much of it was true and how much of it was simply just state sponsored propaganda, I couldn't be sure anymore. As the news report changed focus on a new subject, I could understand why everyone around me seemed to quiet down more.

There on the screen was the princess of Erusea, a beautiful young woman with blonde hair who wore an immaculate white dress. Despite the seeming grace and angelic beauty that she radiated, her words exuded an underlying defiance and hint of steel. She was calling for her fellow Eruseans to rally and stand up against the Osean Federation. The room listened intently as she continued with her impassioned speech, "For too long we have been subjected to humiliation and injustice at the hands of the oppressive Osean Federation. I urge you all to hear me… to stand up, and fight for a noble cause… one that will show that we were on the right side of history!"

The messhall full of rebellious convicts broke out into loud cheers, applause, and wolf whistles. It was easy to understand their sentiment. In some ways, it was hard to imagine that this young idealistic princess represented the "enemy" we were fighting. For those of us convicted criminals here, the words of the princess only put into question our own loyalties and who our real enemies were. Was Erusea really our foe? Or was it in fact the Osean Federation who had condemned us to this fate?

Humans fight for many reasons: resources, politics, religion, hell… even love. At the root of it all, we all fight for survival. However, it was the path which offered the better guarantee of survival that still remained uncertain right now.

In a way, I envied the princess a little. She seemed so resolute and sure of her cause to fight Osea. In my shoes, I wasn't even sure what my cause was anymore. My life had been completely turned upside down and now I needed to find a new purpose. It made we wonder if I'd even find it with my own "people" either. Was there any hope of redemption for my crimes? Or was survival the best I could only hope for?

I felt a hand clap my shoulder as I was joined by my cellmate. Tabloid glanced at the screen and gave a sideways grin, "Ah… Princess Rosa Cosette D'Elise. She's a real looker, isn't she?"

I gave a noncommittal snort before admitting, "I guess she makes a fair case for turning sides, doesn't she?"

Tabloid and I continued to watch her as a news reporter cut in over the rest of the speech earning jeers from the rowdy messhall.

"She's surprisingly well spoken," he mused aloud, "If the Eruseans needed a poster girl for their war machine to keep churning, then she's definitely it."

"I don't doubt that," I agreed with a nod, "I'm sure she's got half of the men in Erusea enlisting and pledging to fight for her."

"This war has become stupid enough," Tabloid chuckled as we sat down to eat, "But I suppose there are worse things to die for, right?"

Before I could reply, I tensed up as I saw a new group of people approaching the table. It looked to be the rest of our flyers in Spare Squadron. Count led the way and seemed to hesitate a moment as well when he took a seat nearby us. The other Spares sat down with us and there was a long pause before High Roller pushed an extra serving of chicken my way along with a few bills of money.

The older man grinned, "As promised, and I figure I could cut you a few extra dollars too. You deserved it Trigger."

"Uh… thanks," I said carefully taking the food and the money as everyone began to eat.

In between bites of his food, Full Band mused, "You know… I have to be honest. That was some pretty gutsy flying you did back there Trigger. I didn't think we were actually going to survive that fight with those Flankers."

"For a minute, neither did I," I agreed, "But we did our parts and pulled it off somehow."

"Yeah… for a minute, we almost looked like a real squadron out there," Champ admitted before Tabloid raised an eyebrow.

"Hey, didn't they say they were going to throw you back in solitary for that stunt you pulled on the runway?"

Champ grumbled, "They're still going to throw me back in the cooler. Since McKinsey said we almost did a good job today, they'd let me eat first."

"Huh… we must be growing on him," Tabloid chuckled.

Champ ignored him and turned to me, studying the black eye he had given me, "Hey Trigger. Before I go, I still got something to say to you."

I looked up curiously and listened as he muttered gruffly, "I uh… good flying today. Just don't think you're all of a sudden going to beat me in a fist fight, okay?"

It was the closest thing I'd probably get to compliment from him so I nodded, "Yeah. Got it."

"He's right you know," Count chimed in, "You may have shown you're an above average pilot out there, but don't think you're suddenly hot shit either. For all we know, maybe you just got lucky today."

I gave a small smirk, "Maybe. I am curious about one thing though. You said something about being treated like a human being if I did something great in the skies?"

Count gave a dismissive shrug and scratched at his messy mop of blond colored hair, "If you haven't noticed already, no one's trying to take your food or throw any punches at you. It's the least we can afford you."

"Fair enough."

I nodded quietly and went back to eating while the others did the same. It was almost a surreal moment as our rag-tag squadron of scoundrels and rejects sat and ate together in relative peace. I'm sure there was still a long way to go before I fully earned the trust and respect of these guys. I still didn't even know what heinous crimes these men had committed to get here but I'm sure in time, I'd eventually find out. For now, I decided it was probably best to enjoy this temporary truce and the quiet moment of camaraderie that came with it.

* * *

Late that evening, we returned to our cell blocks and the guards came around for one final inspection before lights out. Once the cell block went dark and the halls grew quiet, I lay in my cot looking up at the small open air window which had been placed nearer to my bunk. Across the way, Tabloid had rolled over and lay quietly so I figured he was falling asleep. Despite my fatigue from the harrowing events of the day, I was unable to sleep and continued staring out the window. After a time, I sat up craned my neck to really get a good look at the outside world.

The base had gone quiet save for the sounds of summer locusts and crickets outside. In the absence of the moon tonight, I was treated to a small field of glittering stars lighting up the night sky. From here, the skies didn't seem so black and dark, but rather a shade of deep dark blue. I was suddenly pulled from my reverie as I heard the hushed voice of Tabloid speak, "Trigger? Hey, what are you doing over there?"

"I don't know. I was just... looking at the skies I guess," I whispered as I turned back around.

Tabloid reclined on his cot across the room from me and shook his head with a sigh, "Oh yeah? Did you find anything out there?"

I thought about it as I continued to look out the window to the night skies above. Out there was freedom from this hell hole I had found myself in. But even more, the skies above offered another kind of freedom. In the true skies, within the endless sea of blue there were no boundaries, no countries, and no meaningless wars to be fought. I had been given a taste of that again when I flew that sortie with Spare Squadron today. It was in my blood and I needed it again. I needed to fly again and even more, I needed to make sure this war ended in one way or another. Only then would the skies be safe be safe again for anyone and everyone. If Spare Squad was willing to help me do it, then all the better. But for now, I decided I'd do my part. Tabloid had asked me if I found something out there. Well, I did.

As I continued to gaze longingly out the window, I decided had found something after all. I turned back slowly to my squadmate and gave a quiet nod, "Yes. A purpose."

* * *

 **A/N:**  
 **To all the wingmen who've followed along up to this point, I just wanted to say thank you. This was my first attempt at an Ace Combat fic so hopefully you've been enjoying this little short story. Feel free to let me know if you liked it and thanks again for reading!**


	5. The Ace of Spades

**A/N:**  
 **All right, you guys have convinced me. I'm going to keep going with this story so look alive squadron, and form up on me. Let's throttle up and keep flying here.**

* * *

 _I can remember the look of the bright blue skies and the thick layer of low hanging clouds. The glare of the sun was blinding as I pulled my stick hard and came out of my roll, barely missing a collision with a UAV drone in midair. There was mass panic and confusion over our radios as the enemy drones swarmed over the flyers of Mage and Golem Squadrons._

 _The missile warning was blaring loudly from the console of my F-14 as I mashed the pedals and abruptly changed direction again to evade a missile as it streaked by. "This is Mage 2, I've got multiple bandits on my six."_

 _Another missile cruised by and just went wide as I took my aircraft into a steep climb. Three drones buzzed close behind like a swarm of angry wasps before I hid in some thick cloud banks to throw off my pursuers. Once clear, I circled back to rejoin the chaotic aerial melee. An allied F-14 took a hit from a missile and tumbled from the skies as the pilot ejected._

 _"We've got to get out of here! We're dropping like flies!" a fellow Osean pilot called out frantically before a UAV drone collided with his plane and sheared off his tail fins. He was right. The moment that behemoth Arsenal Bird showed up, it had quickly devolved into a nightmarish rout for our fighter wing._  
 _  
"Mage 1? What's the call, Lead?" I asked with an edge in my voice._

 _My question was answered as our AWACs Skykeeper radioed over, "All allied squadrons pull out. Mage and Golem Squadrons, cover the retreat."_  
 _  
My squadron leader growled in frustration but nodded, "Roger that Skykeeper."_

 _My heart continued to race as I watched the shadow of the giant Arsenal Bird looming over us like some kind of giant predator waiting to swallow us whole. As our forces withdrew from the airspace, I looped around a stray drone and lined up a shot, splashing it with my guns as a minor act of defiance in the face of such opposition. I had already expended my missiles, save for one and there was little else I could do with it. That was when I heard the frantic calls of Golem 2 calling for help. I had never known Brownie to sound frightened or hopeless but I turned and saw a modified Erusean Su-30 with orange markings harrying her from the distance. Whoever it was, that pilot was good. His flying was clean and he didn't waste any motions as he maintained a clear angle of pursuit._

 _"Hang on Brownie! I'm coming!" I shouted as I began my futile pursuit. The Erusean ace with the orange markings seemed untroubled as he locked on and fired a missile which obliterated Golem 2's aircraft in midair._

 _"No!" I growled as I fired a missile at the Erusean in desperation. The enemy ace veered off and dodged my missile as it went wide before he disappeared into the clouds and left the battlefield._

 _"Mage 2, break off pursuit!" Clown called to me as a new wave of UAV's began to form up and chase us._

 _"But sir..." I protested. Mage 1 wouldn't hear it._

 _"That's an order Mage 2! We've lost enough people today and those drones are going to keep coming. Fall back and withdraw."_

 _I throttled up and descended before finding a low hanging cloud bank I could escape through, "Copy that."_

 _Even as I fled for my life, I could still feel terror grip my heart as I watched that Arsenal Bird lumber in the distant heavens while its killer drone bees continued their relentless chase._

The white misty clouds of my vision gave way as I woke up in my bunk covered in sweat. I was breathing hard and my hands trembled before I stopped and realized where I was. I was back in my cellblock in the 444th Air Base and early morning light was streaming in through my window. I turned and saw Tabloid was still asleep in his cot before I blew out a long breath. He was lucky he could continue sleeping so peacefully while I was sitting here plagued with that nightmarish memory over the Chopinburg Rainforest. It was an experience I wouldn't want to wish on anybody and it was one that I would sooner forget. Then again, from where I was now, that old life seemed so far away.

Despite it being slicked with sweat, I ran a hand through my short dark hair and lay back down, hoping I could steady my breathing so that I could relax again. In a few short hours, it would be time to wake up again and there was sure to be another busy day of work on the base. I wasn't sure what new unpleasant tasks lay ahead for Spare Squadron today, but anything would be better than having to deal with those god awful drones. If my new squadmates had been there, I'm certain they would have agreed.

* * *

It had been roughly three days since Spare Squadron had flown its first official sortie together to drive off a flight of Erusean bombers that were attacking the base. A lot of good had come of it. We had scored a very minor though ultimately meaningless victory. We had gotten a brief glimpse of what could come of working as a real team, and most importantly I had earned a small shred of respect from my fellow convicts here. I might have still been the new guy there, but they didn't see me as easy prey either. In that battle, they had seen I was ready to fly and to kill and it was because of that, they may have owed their lives to me. If they came to the same realization that I did, then they knew that if they wanted to survive, they would need me and I would need them.

Despite the good that came from our victory, it also meant there was a lot of cleanup to do. The enemy bombers had still managed to inflict a fair amount of damage to our dummy runway and our decoy aircraft that were sitting out on the fields as fake targets. Now it fell to us to clear all that wreckage up and to repave the runways. Add in the fact it was a sweltering 90 degrees outside and that made our job all the more trying. Just like the day before, we criminals put in a long backbreaking day of work to help repair the airfield and clean up the mess. As the day drew to a close and the skies turned to an early evening orange, we dropped off the last mound of wreckage and scrap metal in an empty hanger for the Scrap Queen to work her magic on before driving back to main complex on a jeep.

"Geez. I almost wish we were flying another mission instead of this crap," Champ grumbled as he swatted a fly on his neck, "At least we'd have air conditioning in the planes."

"Tell me about it," Count grumbled in agreement as the jeep stopped and pulled up at the prisoner complex and we entered it, "First thing I'm going to do is hit the showers. What about you Trigger?"

I shrugged, "I don't know. I think I'm going to stop by the mess and get some water first. My throat is killing me."

"Suit yourself," Tabloid said as the three of them broke off from me and headed in a different direction.

I made my way to the mess hall and found that the evening dinner rush had not started yet so there would at least be a little space and peace there. I got a glass of water and guzzled down half of it before I noticed there were few people in the room. Over at one table was that girl Avril Mead, the Scrap Queen as many of the guys on base had taken to calling her. She was in her usual spot sitting alone reading a newspaper. Tabloid had seemed to express some admiration for her but he also warned me she had a bit of a bad attitude. I'm not sure what possessed me to do so, but I decided to go over and speak to her. Maybe I just wanted to see things for myself.

As I approached the table, Avril lowered her newspaper and looked up slowly at me, "Can I help you?"

"Uh... I don't know. Maybe. You're Avril, right? The mechanic?"

"Who wants to know?" she demanded as she scrutinized me with a small scowl.

I stood my ground, "I do."

She remained silent for a moment before going back to reading, "You're that new guy aren't you? The one people are calling Trigger?"

"Yeah. That's me."

"Kind of a stupid name, don't you think?" she asked idly.

I shrugged, "I don't know. I guess it's a little more flattering than Scrap Queen."

She set down the paper and looked up at me with a glare, "Did you just come over here to insult me or something?"

"No. Actually I wanted to come over and give you a compliment about those fake aircraft models you set up on the runways a few days ago. From what I saw, it looks like you do good work."

Avril gave a thin smile before rising from the table, "Listen Trigger. You might be some new hotshot pilot here who impressed some of those cutthroat dogs in your squadron, but you're not going to get anything from me by saying a few nice things and being a quiet nice guy. I don't know you and you don't know me."

"Would you rather I say something mean to you then? Because it seems the other guys were right. You do have a bad attitude," I retorted.

Avril shook her head and stalked off mumbling to herself... something about me being a dumbass.

"Ho ho, maybe we should add another sin line to the tail of your plane," came a familiar voice as he approached from another door to the mess and sat down at a nearby table. I turned to see the face of my squadmate High Roller.

The burly guy had already pulled a deck of cards from his jumpsuit's breast pocket and he began to idly shuffle them, "I see you've finally had an audience with the Scrap Queen herself."

"More like Ice Queen," I remarked as I came to sit with him, "I had no idea she was going to be such an angry bitch."

High Roller laughed and continued shuffling his cards around, "Can you blame her? After all, she's a civilian prisoner who's been trapped here in this hellhole with our kind. I think I'd be a little upset too. You weren't tryin' to get a little somethin' goin' with her, were you?"

"No," I said honestly while shaking my head, "I guess I was just a little curious. I mean, you said it yourself. We're all trapped here together in hell, right? We might has well try to get along with each other and help keep ourselves sane."

High Roller laughed, "You really are trying to go forward with this damn fool approach of yours, aren't you? You want to try and be everyone's pal here so we can defeat Erusea with the power of friendship, or something?"

I gave a sardonic snort, "Why? You want to make a bet that I can't do it?"

High Roller stopped and studied me for a minute before giving a laugh and shaking his head, " You know Trigger, I will say one thing. You certainly keep things interesting for me so I can appreciate that. What say we play a few hands of Blackjack for fun? No wagers or anything."

I nodded and he dealt me a few cards. As we played a few practice hands, I took a sip of water, "Let me ask you something High Roller. What's your deal? Why do you like betting so much?"

"I'm an enterprising man and I like the thrill of taking risks," he smiled as he dealt me a new set of cards, "Or wasn't that obvious enough?"

"Is there an angle to it?" I asked with a smirk as we continued to play, "I mean... what's the point of winning all this money if you really can't use it? Last I checked, we were prisoners here and cash isn't good for much."

"There are still a few things," High Roller said cryptically as he lowered his voice and looked around. When he saw the coast was clear he spoke quietly to me, "Do you know the only job here that's barely better than ours? Being one of the enlisted MP's. They're stuck out here on this godforsaken air base, taking orders from that asshole colonel, and probably being paid shit to do it."

There was a long pause and I took a moment to put two and two together to realize what he was implying, "Hold on. Then that means you plan to use that money to..."

"Grease some wheels and facilitate my eventual escape?" he winked with a conspiratorial grin, "Why what a devious idea. You might be on to something there Trigger."

I stared at him incredulously, "And you say I'm the insane one around here. Is there anyone here who..."

"I might know a couple guards here who seem open to the idea," High Roller answered with a smirk as he shuffled his cards, "And I trust you wouldn't make any mention of our very hypothetical discussion to anyone else, right?"

I simply nodded quietly. Before when I had been a commissioned air force officer, I would have been horrified and disgusted by the idea of this plan, much less allowing such corruption and bribery to occur. Now that I was on the other side of things and had nothing to lose, I couldn't help but feel some sympathy and a desire for High Roller to succeed in his plan.

"I'm guessing it was something like this that got you thrown in here in the first place?"

High Roller shook his head, "Nah. I might have been caught trying to pawn off some spare military property to pay off a major debt. One of the few times I made a real bad bet and it blew up in my face... quite literally."

I remained quiet at that before one of the adjutants of Col. McKinsey entered the dining hall and looked around before spotting us. He walked over quickly and gestured for us to get up, "You two! On your feet. Let's get a move on. You're coming with me."

"We didn't do anything," High Roller protested but the adjutant gave an impatient frown.

"This isn't about anything else you convicts did. This is about what you're going to do. The colonel wanted me to gather you together. It seems he has a new job in mind for Spare Squad."

"At this hour?" I asked in surprise, "We just worked a ten hour day. He can't expect us all to just pick up and fly tonight!"

"I'm not privy to the mission briefings so you can save your bitching for him. Now, if you can do us all a favor and stop wasting time, I'm going to take you over to see the colonel now."

I exchanged a look with High Roller and he simply gave a resigned shrug. As I began to follow the colonel's aide out of the hall, High Roller stopped a minute to play out his last hand of Blackjack. He flipped the last card around and saw his face-down card was a black ace of spades. He decided maybe luck was going to be on his side, if it hadn't run out already.


	6. Gambling Debts

Later that evening, Spare Squadron was gathered into our familiar briefing room on the base where Col. McKinsey waited for us. Once we had assembled, he called us to order and began his presentation. "All right criminals. Listen up! I'm going to brief you on the details of Operation One Pair. Your mission is to atone for your crimes by attracting the enemy's attention."

He gestured to his tactical display board giving a readout of a map with the next assignment, "Starting at 03:00 hours tomorrow morning, I want you to head from the base to the desert region of Roca Roja to the northwest. Your mission will be to attack the large Erusean base there. We've been unable to verify that base's ability to deal with fighters, so you will attack and provoke the enemy into revealing their AA strategy. Get them to fire at you as much as you can so that we can confirm where they're firing from."

"So we're being sent as sacrificial lambs again?" Tabloid grumbled, clearly unhappy with the arrangement.

McKinsey ignored his complaint, "Once we've identified the enemy's capabilities, then it's a case of sending in our regular force to clean them out. For this mission, we've prepared a frontline base that can be used for ammo replenishment and aircraft repairs. However, this is not for you guys. Only the regulars have permission to use it. Even if you run out of ammo, don't forget that you're just decoys. You stay out there as targets for the enemy."

"So what you're saying is that you expect us to go out there and fight the enemy with one hand tied behind our backs again?" Champ fumed.

"You should be lucky I'm even allowing you to fly, much less with armed aircraft," the colonel retorted with a scowl. "If the regular air force didn't have need of you, believe me I'd be having you guys dig ditches or breaking rocks in the yard instead. Now if you're done complaining, I expect you to get out to the hangers and start prepping. You've got a job to do and I want it done. Dismissed!"

A short time later we made our way out to the hangers and I looked around for my aircraft marked with three lines. I stopped in surprise when I suddenly found my old Fishbed was gone. In its place sat an F-18 Super Hornet which looked to be in much better condition than my last plane. I looked to some of my comrades who had walked by, "Hey... what's all this?"

Full Band chuckled and crossed his arms, "Seems like you're moving up in the world Trigger."

Count ambled over and gave an aloof sigh, "It's probably for the better. If you're going to be flying with us now, it's best you pilot something that'll be able to keep up with us and not embarrass the squadron either. We may be convicts, but we still have a badass image to maintain."

I couldn't help but grin a little at that, "All right then. I can live with that."

As the others dispersed, High Roller stuck around and reached into his pocket. He pulled out a wad of cash and handed it to me. I looked at the money and then to him with a look of confusion, "What are you doing? What's with the money?"

"Think of it as an advance on what I'm going to owe you," he said with a wink, "Let's just say I've got a good feeling luck is on our side Trigger."

"You made another bet on me, didn't you?" I asked.

He grinned, "You should be flattered I'm betting on your life. As far as I'm concerned, you've been a good luck charm to us. I figure in a couple more sorties, I'll have the money I need to go places."

"A lot can happen in a couple sorties," I cautioned him.

High Roller winked and clapped me on the shoulder before he headed off to his plane, "I'll play the odds. I figure as long as I stick with you, we're going to make it just fine."

I shook my head with a sigh and pocketed the money before I turned to the ground crews who were prepping my aircraft. High Roller was definitely an odd one, but he seemed like one of the more friendly types around here so I couldn't be too hard on him either. I decided to head off and get some work done myself. I had to do my own pre-flight checks and selection of weapons which would be best suited to the mission ahead.

* * *

Early the next morning, the squadron took to the air and cruised for a couple hours toward our next objective. By now, the darkness of night had gradually given way and the early morning sun was beginning to break over the deserts of Roca Roja. An orange yellow hue hung over the expanse of rocks and sand as we could see similar colored canyon formations rise up in the near distance. We had some mixed cloud cover which we could make an approach from and hopefully surprise the enemy with. As I continued to look forward, I saw my HUD begin to light up with a slew of potential green targets on the ground.  
"Let's use our ammo wisely boys. We've got a target rich environment but we have to make our shots count," I called over the radio.

"Come on. Don't be such a killjoy Trigger," Count chuckled, "I think you're just scared we might kill more targets than you this time around."

"Just like before. We'll blow the shit out of everything," Champ added in agreement.

As we dropped from the clouds, we throttled forward over a rocky ridgeline into the space of an enemy airbase. Spare Squadron split out and began to launch its attack on the Erusean airfield where several ground vehicles and parked planes were sitting. The ground became lit up as we launched a volley of missiles and strafed the buildings along the runways. A few grounded aircraft and a hanger erupted into fireballs while other vehicles scrambled to drive free.  
"We're picking up several transport trucks on the move," Bandog informed us, "They're not a threat, but feel free to take them out."

"Leave em to me. Bullying the weak is kind of a specialty of mine," Champ replied with a dark chuckle while peeling off to attack the trucks below.

I continued strafing along the base's grounds with Tabloid close behind, "Spare 11, we've got grounded bombers at three o clock. Take em out."

"Roger that," Tabloid answered as he turned his attention to the grounded planes and destroyed them with a pair of missiles.

As I rose from my low flying attack run, I strafed the control tower and sent a missile into it watching as it erupted into flames. The squad gave a laughing cheer while Count swooped in from the other side of the field and silenced a pair of anti-aircraft guns, "Scratch two hostiles."

I had to give him some credit so I gave a grin, "Nice shooting Count. Thanks for the cover."

"Righto."

Spare Squadron regrouped as the airfield burned and Bandog radioed in, "Listen up Spares, there are three sections of the enemy air defenses here. You've still got two more so keep moving."

"If we don't run out of ammo first," High Roller chimed in. He was right. Although our fighters had been loaded with extra missiles and ordinance for this mission, there was no way Spare Squadron was going to be able to destroy everything with the limited resources we had.

The squadron changed direction and headed to the next Erusean site, an extensive network of fortified positions nestled within a nearby valley. As we approached, a fierce barrage of AA fire and SAM launchers came to life filling the skies with danger. A few rounds of fire glanced off my hull and shook my Hornet as we responded in kind trying to fight our way through to the valley. "Damn! They're really rolling out the welcome mat for us."

Some of the Spares scattered to avoid some missiles and draw away ground fire while the rest of us softened up the ground targets and carried out the airstrike on the installations. Full Band called out a warning, "Stay sharp boys. We don't have a lot of room to maneuver and there are gun mounts in the hills."

"At least we're getting them to shoot at us," Count said sourly, "I think McKinsey needs to rethink his strategy."

"Anyone want to make a bet? Whoever guesses the colonel's next strategy wins?" High Roller chirped.

"You wanna bet some of your ammo? Because I'm almost out of missiles," Champ called over.

Spare Squadron made its way through the valley and leveled off before approaching the last major site on our radars. I glanced at my instruments and radioed my team, "Keep an eye on your fuel gauges. If we're going to unload on this last target, we've got to make it count."

Just then, Bandog's voice came in over the radios with a sharp urgent tone in his voice, "Aircraft approaching at high speed, bearing 2-8-0."

I could see about ten new hostile blips appear on the edge of our radars and my heart stopped when I heard Bandog speak again, "They're drones!"

Full Band gave a scoff and spoke up, "These must be the infamous drones. Can they really dogfight without pilots?"

If only he knew. It was then that I realized my fellow Spares had not been in battle against any drone fighters... at least not like the ones I had. The horrifying memories of Chopinburg began to claw at the edges of my mind as I looked frantically about in irrational fear for the menacing shadow of an Arsenal Bird. I barely noticed that my heart had already started beating faster and my breaths grew shorter as I could feel the grip of fear in my chest again.

"Machines are not replacing humans," Champ insisted.

"Calm down. They're just obstacles in the way," Bandog reprimanded us, "Don't forget your original mission."

As much as I had grown to dislike our AWACs controller, I was a little grateful for his trying to keep us focused in his own misguided way. The intercepting fire from the ground began to intensify and I could hear my fellow Spares call out in dread as they found themselves harried from above and below. I turned my Hornet into a diving roll and set my sights on the ground targets. I'm not sure why, but I did not want to engage those drones in the air. "Let's go Spares. Follow my lead."

Our squadron swooped low and tried to shake the incoming drones by heading toward a large tunnel carved into the canyon leading toward the last major enemy installation. As we thundered through, there were several transport vehicles and supply crates lined along the sides which we strafed while passing by. As we erupted from the flaming tunnel to see the exposed enemy base, Tabloid gave a shout, "Let's light em up!"

Those of us with extra missiles unloaded on the airbase shredding warehouses and aircraft hangers with explosions, trying to do as much damage as we could before we were hit from the air. Spare Squadron spread out and circled within the valley taking out some of the AA guns and SAM sites before they could react to the surprise attack that had come in low. With the ground forces suppressed, I heard a new frantic cry come in over the radio. It was High Roller.

"This is Spare 7. Shit! Someone get this enemy off my tail!"

He must have been chased by one of the UAV's.

"I can't! I've got my hands full too!" Count answered as he climbed and began to dogfight some of the incoming drones that had caught up to us, "Look out for that missile! Shake it off!"

I felt my stomach drop again as the vivid flashbacks of Chopinburg resurfaced in my mind. My hands began to tremble as I fought to grip my joystick and maintain control myself. It was all beginning to sound too familiar. The chaos, the swarm of drones, and the panicked voices of my allies. I saw a trail of smoke in the air followed by a boom and heard High Roller shout again.

"Goddamn it! I'm hit! I'm still at the table!"

Tabloid veered away from a drone fighter as he tried to render aid but was chased off, "High Roller! Missile! Another one!"

"I should have bet on myself getting out of this one," High Roller muttered darkly as I heard him gasping, "Trigger? Where are you?"

I was looking around frantically and feeling myself lock up at the sight of the swarming drones in the sunlight. It was like losing Brownie all over again, only this time, I couldn't spot High Roller and I didn't know what to do."

"Trigger! Help me!" High Roller called out with more urgency before his line cut out and went to static.

Champ suddenly raised his voice, "Hey! Someone is down! Who is it?"

"It's High Roller! He's just been taken out!" Tabloid answered as he watched the flaming remains of the gambler's jet go down and explode on the ground. "I don't see any parachute!"

"Damn it!" I growled angrily. We had lost another comrade and I felt some anger at myself for letting my fear get the better of me and freezing up just now.

Bandog's voice cut in and splashed cold water on all of us, "Don't piss your pants about one aircraft being down."

"I wonder what happens to a bet when the banker's out?" Full Band asked as he tangled with some of the other drones.

"It's voided moron," our air controller cackled sadistically.

Full Band broke off and began to throttle away, "I'm out of ammo anyway! What's the point? Retreat!"

"Follow your orders! Do not retreat until I give the order!" Bandog shouted as a drone attacked me and struck a glancing blow on my hull with its guns.

Champ gave an indignant and angry reply, "We're out of ammo and we can't dogfight these things! You seriously want to lose all your pilots out here for nothing?"

"Shut up!" Bandog responded but Champ broke away from the fight too.

"Try and stop me! What about you Tabloid?"

My wingman had an edge in his voice, "I'm backing Trigger. Stick with the best if you want to survive."

"If anyone wants to stay and die, then let em," Full Band answered as he made his escape.

From above, Count snorted, "Poor decisions on your parts. I saw you freeze up there Trigger. Where were you when the gambler needed you?"

"Shut up," I growled as I avoided another drone that buzzed by and fired my last missiles at it. To my dismay, my shots went wide and missed.

"Damn! I'm out! Bandog, this is nuts! We need to get out of here... now! We weren't expecting these drones!"

There was a long silence before Bandog gave a grudging snarl, "All right. That's enough Spare Squadron. Fall back to base. Those bastards who broke off early will wish they were never born. You three will get a pass."

"Damn right!" Count cheered as the rest of us broke off and throttled away from the destroyed Erusean base below and outran the drones that had jumped us.

"Don't get your hopes up. I wouldn't be surprised if we get thrown in the cooler too," Tabloid muttered grimly.

Full Band gave a dry chuckle as we caught up to him and Champ, "Hey, who wants to make a bet on who gets their asses tossed into solitary? That's what that gambling nutjob would say if he were still here."

To my surprise, the only person who laughed over the comms was Bandog. After a laugh, our controller said, "Come on guys. Where's your sense of humor? Your buddy's making a joke. Laugh already."

The rest of us remained silent. I got the feeling Full Band and Bandog didn't care for High Roller treating his death so lightly rubbed me the wrong way. I was feeling just as guilty and angry at myself. We may have accomplished our goal of raiding the enemy base but to me, it still felt like a defeat. Was this how it was going to be if we lost more people? If I got blown out of the sky would the others just laugh and pick at my wreckage like a bunch of heartless vultures? It seemed like I would have a lot to think about on the way back to base.


	7. Spoils of War

After returning to our home base in Zapland, we were debriefed by Colonel McKinsey who did not look too pleased at all. Despite having done significant damage to the enemy airbase in Roca Roja, the colonel didn't think it was good enough. He lined us up and chewed us out about how cowardly and useless we all were. It didn't seem to matter to him that we were limited from having been denied the opportunity to resupply and refuel our fighters. It didn't seem to matter that we were ambushed by new drone fighters, and it didn't matter that we had lost one of our comrades too. Since I had gotten here, I was constantly reminded that we were scum and that we were expendable. I just didn't think that our superiors here actually believed that to be so true.

After getting yelled at, Full Band and Champ were thrown in solitary while the rest of us were dismissed back to our cells to "think about what we did." I half expected Count to say something snide and start a fight with me but he remained surprisingly quiet. That was fine. I didn't feel like talking to anyone else at the moment anyway… not even Tabloid.

Another quiet day passed with no incident and I returned to my cell block after a day of carting munitions around the airfields. I found Tabloid already there sitting on his cot paging through one of his many books as he simply gave a quiet nod of his head to greet me. I flopped down on my cot and stared at the ceiling in silence. My thoughts continued to drift back to the incidents of the past two days as I reached for my pocket and found a wad of rolled up bills there… the money High Roller had given me.

I can't say I knew the guy well, but he had been one of the friendlier people here and I didn't have anything bad to say about him. Besides, who was I to judge? We were all criminals here anyway, right? How did that old saying go? Something about people throwing stones in glass houses? If anything, I was still plagued by the guilt I continued to feel. I hated the helpless feeling I had experienced in the air battle over Chopinburg and I hated the fact I couldn't save one of my comrades, Brownie. I hated the fact that the return of the drones in Roca Roja spooked me and made me freeze up when High Roller called for help. Could I really have saved him? I'm not sure. All survivors in war play this game wondering if there was only something they did differently, that it would have made a meaningful difference. I guess it was about time that caught up with me too.

I heard footsteps and was pulled away from my dark thoughts when I turned to see three men enter the hall and come to our cell doors. It was the rest of Spare Squad. Tabloid looked up idly and closed his book with a sigh while addressing Champ and Full Band, "Well… I see they finally let you two jokers out of the doghouse. I would've bet they'd keep you in there at least another day or two."

"And it's a good thing they didn't," Full Band grinned. The older man with dark curly hair and a slightly receding hairline led the others inside our cell carrying a sock that was weighted down with something, "If we were, then I wouldn't have been able to salvage this."

I sat up in bed and gave a sarcastic snort, "What's that? Your dirty laundry?"

Full Band shook his head and reached inside the sock, "No. High Roller's. I was able to get back to my cell before the guards came to clean the rest of his junk out."

Full Band had been High Roller's roommate and I could only guess that they probably didn't get along. It seemed like they must've annoyed each other, but that was just speculation. Granted, I was a little horrified at the fact that Full Band was basically pilfering a dead man's belongings, but I was also a little intrigued too.

"Feast your eyes on this boys," Full Band smiled as he pulled out a large stack of cash money. That must have been where High Roller had been hiding his winnings from all his bets. He was quite literally socking it away.

Everyone gave murmurs and low whistles as Full Band flipped through the bills of money, "The spoils of war."

"I can't believe he actually hoarded away that much," Tabloid exclaimed in shock, "I wonder what he planned to do with it all?"

I remained silent as I planned to keep my promise to High Roller, even if he wasn't here.

"Imagine if he was able to earn interest on this," Count added greedily before Full Band swatted his hand away.

"Easy there gentleman. As we are the gambler's wingmates, I'm sure he would've wanted us to have this. So we're going to split it up between us evenly."

He counted out the money and divided it between us in smaller stacks. Champ grinned and shuffled his new ill gotten gains, "You know… we could probably buy some stuff from the base's PX store with this."

"Well… I could use some new books," Tabloid mused while Champ waved it off.

"Psh. Forget the novels Tabloid. Maybe we could find some dirty mags or something."

"I share a room with you, remember?" Count scowled to him, "Don't even think about it Chump."

I tucked my money away to add to the cash High Roller left me, "How about you Full Band?"

He scratched his chin in thought and shrugged, "I dunno. I kinda want to see if I can get my hands on some more parts for my transistor radio or something."

"So you could tool around with it and keep listening in on others?" Count asked, "You said you were some intelligence officer before you landed here, right?"

Full Band's features went taut and he remained quiet before Count gave up and lost interest. "Ah… whatever. What are you going to do with your winnings Trigger?"

"I don't know yet," I admitted as I got up and left the cell, "I'll have to think about it some more."

I wanted some space. What was going on in there sickened me a little. I knew we were in a war, and I was no stranger to death already, but to do what we were doing right now? It felt like we were picking over the corpse of one of our own. The fact we were joking and happy about profiting off another's loss was a morbid feeling and one I didn't care to grow too accustomed to.

* * *

Later that day, I found myself at the doors of one of the base's hangers that was being used for storage. It was quieter now as early evening began to set in. Orange and red light lit up the airstrip; the same kind that had bathed the deserts of Roca Roja in our recent operation. I sat alone on an old wooden crate leaning against a hanger door while watching the sunset. I had to report back in a little while for dinner but I was in no rush to get back to the complex either. I watched the orange skies for a while until I heard someone approach from across the way. "Still thinking about flying the coop, huh? Can't say I blame you."

I turned to see my wingmate Count approach with his usual air of casual smugness, "Although I might have mixed feelings if they shot you down. I wouldn't have any interesting competition up there."

"Is that what you think this is? That this is all just a big game to you?" I frowned in irritation.

"High Roller certainly seemed to think so," Count sniffed as he joined me and stood to look at the skies, "Say what you will about him, but he always went big and played to win so I can respect that."

"So we respect him by basically looting his body and making jokes about it earlier?"

Count turned his head with a hard glare, "See, that's where you've got it all wrong Trigger. Don't you start going around talking all high and mighty to me. Look around here man. We're all criminals here. We're the dregs that Osea doesn't want anymore. We're thieves, rebels, and murderers."

"That doesn't mean we have to act like it," I protested but Count answered me with a scornful laugh.

"Come on Trigger. is that what you're really afraid of? A model officer and ace pilot sinking into the mud to become like the rest of us? Let me tell you something Trigger. You're in no position to talk. There's blood on our hands already. Yours, mine, everybody's in Spare."

"I am not a murderer," I shot back heatedly, "And I didn't kill Harling either!"

"Maybe. But does that really matter now? How many Eruseans have you killed? How many of their soldiers have you bombed? How many of their pilots have you blown out the skies? No. You shouldn't be scared of that. You're exactly where you need to be. You're already a killer like the rest of us."

We stared each other down for a long moment before I looked away toward the sun again, "Do you know what I'm most afraid of right now Count? I'm afraid of trusting myself right now. In that last battle, I completely froze up when we were attacked by those drones. That may have cost High Roller when he needed my help."

"You're not the squadron leader," Count pointed out, "If he decides to fly like a dumbass and get himself killed, well... that's not your responsibility."

"If someone isn't responsible, then all of us may very well get killed on another mission. You're a pilot. You know that too," I argued.

Count gave another dismissive chuckle and reached in his pocket to pull out a cigarette before lightning it, "Seems to me that some of the other guys in the squad might be starting to see you as that guy. That if they follow you, we'll come out on top."

"I thought you were the self appointed leader of Spare Squadron."

Count wrinkled his features has he took a drag of his smoke, "You can think what you want. If you want to challenge me and convince the others you're actually worth following, then you're going to have to prove it out there. Best you learn to fight those drones and let go of that guilt. It's only going to weigh you down here."

I considered his words and looked up slowly, "Yeah... okay. Why are you doing this Count?"

He took another puff of his cigarette before tossing it aside and walking off, "I don't know. Maybe I just like having a real challenger. Or maybe I just like having someone owe me one."

I watched the man depart down the airstrip in silence before a small smile crossed my lips. Maybe in his own odd way, Count had a point. Sure, I still thought he was kind of an arrogant asshole, but it didn't mean he wasn't right either. There wasn't a lot of point in dwelling too much on the past. I'd still have to live with what happened: at Chopinburg, at the Lighthouse with Harling's death, and with the loss of High Roller. The only thing was, either I learned to face those drones again and control myself, or they would certainly control me. I wasn't about to let that happen. I got up slowly from my crate and headed back toward the complex, with some new things to consider now.

After dinner, I returned to my cell for the evening and settled in when Tabloid returned carrying a few more books. He grinned, "Hey Trigger. Got some new material. Maybe you'll want to take a look."

"Sorry man, I think I'll pass. It's been a long day," I yawned.

Tabloid chuckled and pulled out a tabloid magazine he had purchased at the PX with some of his money, "Nonsense. I think I found something you'll want."

He reached into the magazine and tore out a large page. Using some tape from his desk, he taped the page near my side of the wall. To my surprise and amusement, it was a picture of Princess Rosa Cosette D'Elise of Erusea. Despite the events of the day, I couldn't help but laugh aloud, "Really?"

Tabloid clapped my shoulder, "You seemed kinda down about everything so I figured that'd cheer you up a little. I know it's not quite the same as something from the dirty mags that Champ wanted, but this might give us a little motivation to stay alive here if we have something nice to look at."

"Thanks. It certainly makes this bare wall a lot better looking," I chuckled in agreement, "Still, I'm just a little concerned about one other thing if we hang this up."

Tabloid tapped his chin, "Oh? That the guards will think we're big traitors for admiring the enemy?"

"Hell no! I'm more worried the guards will try to take this for themselves."

In that moment, both Tabloid and I grinned and exchanged the first long genuine laugh that we've had since coming to this godforsaken hell-hole.

* * *

Elsewhere, the Osean air base in Zapland grew quiet as the late evening shift took over and much of the base personnel settled in for the night. Within one of the secondary control towers, only one computer screen remained lit while a figure in an Osean Air Force uniform sat behind it working in a darkened room. He was a tall thin middle aged man with sallow skin and sharp angular features. He looked to be balding and his face seemed to remain contorted into a mild frown or sneer. He sat transmitting a recorded radio message along with backing up data on some storage drives. As he finished his work, he paused a moment and watched the signal strangely waver for a brief moment before finishing its broadcast on a secret channel.

He was startled when he heard a voice from behind in the dark room address him, "What's the status Bandog? Are you almost done?"

The cruel AWACs controller of Spare Squadron turned in his seat to face Colonel McKinsey and give a quiet nod, "Yes sir. The data has been backed up and the rest has been sent off like you requested."

"Was there a problem just now?" McKinsey asked.

Bandog shrugged and shook his head, "No. The signal wavered for just a moment, but it must have been nothing. I doubt anyone would have been able to tap into our secure radio band."

"See that it remains so," McKinsey said sternly, "No one else must find out about this. Even if it won't be long..."

Bandog looked the colonel and nodded, "Sir? Are you really going to be ready to do this? I mean... if anyone were to find out what we're leaking here... we could be hung by a tribunal, or lined up in front of a firing squad."

"Now is not the time to lose your nerve Bandog. You're in too deep with me and we've gone this far," McKinsey rebuked him sharply, "Besides... you know as well as I do what direction this was is going to take. We have to be sure we'll be on the winning side."

Bandog grimaced and shifted in his seat with slight discomfort, "You don't think anyone else suspects anything... do you? Or maybe those dogs in Spare Squadron?"

"Don't worry about the convicts," McKinsey said with a scoff, "Besides, even if they did, I have special plans for them. And if they wind up dying... well, who's going to miss them, right?"


	8. Dark Skies

Over the course of the week, the weather had grown rainy and overcast in Zapland as much of the air base's activities moved indoors. Fortunately for Spare Squadron, that meant a little more downtime from the daily grind of the manual labor outside. On one such Saturday morning, our squadron was allowed some free time to do personal maintenance on our aircraft in the hangers. I had opted to clean my Hornet and I stood on a ladder scrubbing down a part of the wings while the others wrenched underneath Count's plane nearby. The windows of the hanger let in dull gray light and we could hear the constant drumming of rain falling outside. Despite the bad weather outside, the mood inside the hanger was actually a little more relaxed and upbeat than usual.

From the bottom of another plane, we heard some banging and cursing sounds only to see Champ fighting with some gears under the manifold. He looked like he was at war with a jammed piece of equipment and was intent to fix it with brute strength. "Come on you son of a bitch... just let up!"

"Hey easy there big guy," Tabloid called out, "You don't want to damage the avionics in there. Why not try a softer touch?"

"Not my style," Champ grunted as he continued to struggle, "Someone or something picks a fight with me, I don't quit until I'm the last man standing."

We all looked to his roommate, but Count simply threw up his hands and shrugged quietly. As far as I could tell, Champ was never one for restraint or deep thought. He preferred action and his short temper made him quick to fight. By all accounts, he was the type who was just a big crude thug, but useful if he was on your side. I guess the extra muscle and an attack dog was good for Spare Squadron, but those were some dangerous traits to have for a fighter pilot. More likely than not, someone who was too reckless and aggressive often wound up dancing with the angels instead.

Count gave a thoughtful look, "Hey, you know who I'd love to challenge Champ? I'd like to see that Avril chick take him on. I'd put my money on her winning that fight."

"You sure you wouldn't be in her weight class?" Champ retorted, "After all, you do hit like a girl."

Tabloid and I simply exchanged an amused look and laughed at the back and forth that was going on before someone entered the hangers and cut it short.

"You know, not only do you guys gossip like schoolgirls, but you do it so loud that half the base can probably hear you."

We all turned to see Full Band enter the hangers with a casual air. Tabloid grinned and wiped some oil grease from his brow, "Hey, it's about time you got up and graced us with your presence."

Count tossed a greasy rag at Full Band but the intelligence officer dodged it, "Late night or something, huh? Playing with your toy radio again?"

"Heh… he was probably playing with something else," Champ chortled going for the crude humor.

Full Band ambled over to our workspace and gave a little snort, "Maybe I was spending a little time listening to the radio last night."

"Well I doubt you can pick up any of Billboard's Top 100 here," I joked while continuing to clean.

Full Band gave me a sarcastic look, "Come on Trigger, you're not thinking big enough. I'm not interested in listening to crappy pop music. There's a lot more interesting things out there."

"What? Like space aliens?" Champ asked.

Full Band pinched the bridge of his nose in mild exasperation, "No you knuckle dragging cretin! I'm talking about military chatter. I think I may have picked up something big this time… like really big."

"Oh geez. Not another one of your conspiracy theories," Count groaned but Tabloid elbowed him out the way.

"Come on now. Hold up. Let's hear the guy out. What've you got Full Band?"

The intelligence officer kept his voice low and gave a conspiratorial look, "I could have sworn I heard bits and pieces of a report being given from Bandog, along with some flight instructions. It was hard to make out a lot of it because there was so much static. I'm guessing it was on a highly secure wavelength."

I shrugged, "So Bandog was issuing some flight reports. What's so weird about that?"

"Zapland wasn't running any night operations yesterday," Full Band said, "Who was he directing and why, if not any of us here? Maybe he was relaying messages through a secret back channel."

The rest of us looked at one another and exchanged another shrug before I joked again, "Or maybe Bandog really was talking to space aliens."

Full Band shook his head with a grumble as the rest of the squadron laughed again. Our moment of banter was cut short again as two MPs entered the hanger along with the colonel's aide. He didn't even have to say anything as we all knew what he was there to do. He simply raised a finger and gave the "come with me" gesture prompting all of us to pick up and follow him out of the hangers.

Tabloid gave a dejected sigh, "Well… so much for a rainy Saturday off."

As usual, we were ferried across the base in a covered jeep and taken to an HQ post where Colonel McKinsey waited with his newest assignment. Once we got seated and the lights went out for the mission briefing, the colonel spoke. "You know… I've received a medal for my ingenuity in finding a use for you cons. But just remember, if any of you disobey orders, there will be a very special place in solitary confinement for you. That said, it's time to make yourselves useful. An Osean Air Force squadron is currently entering Erusean territory for reconnaissance. Due to certain unknown factors, their return route has been changed."

Full Band gave me a quick elbow in the side as if trying to prove he was right about his theory while McKinsey continued, "The new return route will be through Yinshi Valley, a scenic but rocky karst area. The enemy's radar facilities and anti aircraft weapons hidden in the mountainsides pose a serious threat. Your mission is to destroy them and get our guys out in one piece. Also note, the enemy will send up interceptors if you are detected so be prepared for potential dogfighting. The weather will not be on your side, but you're doing this whether you like it or not. Worry about the allied squadron's return route. Not your own."

Rearguard missions were always a dangerous prospect and I couldn't help but let a dark expression cross my features. If we were going out in inclement weather like this, it would only make flying more difficult. If I was reading those topographic maps correctly, the Yinshi Valley was going to be a treacherous area with lots of narrow passes. It made me wonder why these allied squadrons returning home had been rerouted through there, but maybe it was because that was the least expected place they'd go? I could only hope that was the case. I was shaken from my thoughts when I heard Champ calling, "Yo, Trigger! Let's go already!"

I gave a sigh and thought about the rainstorm we were going to be flying through. So much for trying to wash my fighter plane.

* * *

Some time later, Spare Squadron had taken to the air and jetted into the continent to reach our mission objective. As we cruised through the rainy overcast skies, I could see the rocky crags of the Yinshi Valley jutting up from a sea of low hanging clouds like jagged menacing teeth. As we made our approach, Count grumbled, "Man, I can't see shit through this soup."

"Why don't you use that cloud cover to your advantage," Bandog rebuked him sharply, "If those AA installations don't kill you, those looming thunderclouds might. You guys were born unlucky."

"Yeah, you were probably the dumbass who came up with this batshit plan in the first place," Champ fired back.

Our controller snorted in derision, "Just shut up and obey orders Spare 8."

One by one, the fighters of Spare Squadron spread out and reduced altitude to navigate the crags of the valley. Here and there, radar and missile sites were spotted and just as quickly silenced by our fighters. As I flew along my zone, I led the way and spotted for Tabloid as he followed behind ready to attack the enemies I painted. We hung a sharp turn around a rock formation and I spotted two radar sensors which Tabloid picked off with well-placed missile strikes.

"Nice shooting," I grinned as we ascended from some cloud cover and heard a transmission from an allied jet.

"Air Force Base Squadron 444. This is Cyclops 1. Cyclops and Strider Squadrons will be arriving shortly. We're low on fuel and ammunition so we're counting on you to cover us."

"Roger that Cyclops 1," I answered, "Standing by."

No sooner had Spare Squadron regrouped, we heard a more frantic call from a pilot in Strider Squadron, "Caution, bandit inbound! It looks like UAV's!"

I felt a lump in my stomach as we turned and saw two flights of Osean fighter jets emerge from the thick cloud cover. Close behind were the Erusean drone fighters harrying them and trying to catch up. Count seemed the most eager and I could almost hear the grin in his voice, "Great. More target practice."

"Spare Squadron, focus! Secure the line of retreat for your allies at all costs!" Bandog growled over our radios.

The Osean jets flew by us in a tight formation and as we moved to engage the incoming drones, I could already see the storm clouds darken as thunder rumbled loudly and lighting began to streak across the air. While we were technically safe within our aircraft from lightning strikes, it was still a major hazard and a hit could wreak havoc on our instruments.

Count radioed me, "You aren't planning on chickening out again, are you Trigger?"

I growled and throttled forward after him. It was a petty dig, but I was grateful for his goading me into action. This situation had already devolved into a shit-show so what better place to face my fear of the drones within a raging thunderstorm. Our squadron peeled off and scattered the drones as several chaotic dogfights began to rage in the skies. I could hear one of the female recon pilots as I tried to shake off a pursuing drone, "What's with the 444th? They're all over the place. No formation or anything."

We may have been a ragtag and unconventional squadron, but we could always use that to our advantage. I decided to take a different tactic. I banked right into a sharp climb leading my foe into a thundercloud before I suddenly felt my plane shake amid a brilliant flash of light. After a heart-pounding second of terror, I could see my cockpit instruments wobbling and trying to reset themselves but in my rear view, I saw the thunderbolt that hit me also hit the drone and shorted out its systems. It dropped away trailing a plume of smoke. As I descended from the stormclouds, I could hear Bandog already insulting me, "Don't get a big head Spare 15. You guys can try the same stunt if you want to go hide in the clouds like that coward Trigger."

Once my systems had rebooted, I was able to target the enemy drones again. If I could take getting hit by lightning, then I could stand against these drones. Having used most of his ammo on the ground sites, Tabloid followed close at my wing and wrangled some of the drones toward me so that I could line up better angles for my weapons. I rolled and tumbled in the air following the drones while sending missiles streaking after them. One by one, I was shooting them out of the skies as easily as I had killed Erusean fighter jets. One drone. Two drones. Three and four followed in short succession as the last broke apart in midair and exploded. I radioed Count, "That's four!"

"Damn! I only have three," he growled breaking off pursuit of a drone as Champ killed it instead.

"Is that everyone?" Full Band asked as he dodged a lightning bolt, "Are our allies clear?"

"All except one," Bandog replied before the last remaining Osean radioed in. It was Cyclops 1.

"Damn! I've got one more drone on me! I need a hand over here!"

I made a sharp turn and moved to respond, "Hang on Cyclops Leader. Spare 15 engaging!"

I took off after the last drone that was chasing Cyclops 1 through the storm. As I pursued and tried to line up a shot, we maneuvered through several rock formations and I couldn't help but admire the flying of my ally. Whoever he was, he was good. He was calm and his turning was skillful, almost like art. He looked behind him and made a steep climb to lure the enemy out, drawing the drone into a better firing angle for me. I already knew what he was thinking as I angled my shot upward and locked on with a high speed missile that streaked away and blasted the drone's wings clean off. It erupted into a plume of fire as Cyclops 1 veered clear just in time.

"Nice teamwork there Spare 15," he said with a friendly laugh, "I owe you one."

I grinned quietly from my victory over the drones, "No worries Cyclops Leader. Just doing my job."

Bandog paused and called out, "Wait a minute! Hold it!"

"Oh give me a break!" Champ exclaimed in frustration, "You have more chores for us?"

"Spare 8, Champ! Bogey approaching fast from the rear!" Bandog replied quickly, "All available units, support Spare 8!"

Champ looked over his left shoulder and spotted an enemy fighter approaching quickly from the rear. The bandit emerged from the dark storm clouds like a predator and dove down to attack. It was an Erusean Su-30 "I don't need any support! This guy is all mine!"

Champ hit the throttle and began to juke and weave to try and break free of the enemy's weapon's lock. As Champ took evasive actions he kept looking over his shoulder and gasped in surprise, "What the hell? He's not firing!"

As the other Spares and I moved to assist, we noticed the odd behavior of the enemy fighter as it chased Champ. It was almost like it was toying with him. Once we neared, I got a better look and my heart stopped beating for a moment as fear and fury gripped my heart. That Erusean fighter had orange markings on its wings and tail. Those were the same markings of that ace I had seen over Chopinburg. That was the same ace who had killed Brownie! Now I suddenly feared for Champ's life as he tried desperately to shake the mysterious enemy ace.

I could hear Champ breathing hard and growling toward his foe, "Damn it! I'm not afraid of you!"

"Spare 8! Break off now! Do not engage that bandit in a dogfight!" Bandog warned.

Naturally, Champ ignored orders. He was letting his pride and desire for fighting overcome his better judgment, "Negative! I won't let this slide!"

To our amazement, he pulled a cobra maneuver to counter the Erusean ace and try to get behind him. For a moment, it almost looked like it succeeded as Champ sailed high and prepared to fire a follow up shot. But just as quickly, the rest of us in Spare Squadron watched in silence with equal parts horror and awe as the enemy ace pulled a tight looping maneuver and lined up a perfect killshot on the exposed fuselage of our comrade. Our hearts stopped in our chests as the ace hung in midair, almost as if he was moving in slow motion before he fired a pair of missiles directly at Champ.


	9. Face Off

The light of a thunderbolt lit up the dark skies followed by another bright flash as Champ's fighter jet took direct hits from the missiles and erupted into a large fireball. Our wingmate's aircraft was completely obliterated as the Erusean ace swept by the bits of flaming shrapnel that remained. Count's jaw hung open before he gave a furious shout at the loss of his wingman, "God damn it! Champ is down! They got him!"

Full Band was the first to regain his senses as he swerved away from the scene and called to us, "Get clear Spares! Break! That ace means business!"

Time seemed to stand still for a long moment as I watched the Erusean ace move to attack again. Like an old cowboy gunfighter, I sat staring right at him and deciding what to do. Whoever that ace was, I knew he was deadly. He seemed to enjoy playing with his enemies before easily dispatching them with ruthless efficiency. If he were to continue his raid and pounce upon our allies in Cyclops and Strider Squadrons, it would be a massacre. They were exhausted and already short of fuel and munitions. No way were they in any shape to fight an enemy pilot like that.

Bandog cut in over the comms, "Spare Squadron, protect Cyclops and Strider from that bandit! Get in there with that monster Spare 15 or we're going to lose more friendlies."

As another peal of thunder rattled the skies, I felt the same kind of fear and dread I had when faced with the drone swarms and Arsenal Bird. It had been shocking to see Champ killed so mercilessly but his death reminded me of Brownie's, yet part of me felt I had to pay that ace back too. I thought about Count's words, that this was not the time to feel sorry myself or for those lost. It was a time to kill or be killed. I knew that if I didn't pull it together, my squadmates would be put in danger. I wouldn't let that happen. We weren't going to lose another ally… not if I could help it!.

"Spare 15, Spare 11, form an element and take up the rear!" Bandog instructed us but I knew what I had to do. I throttled up and went straight at the ace with weapons armed.

"Negative Bandog! I'll protect the unit!"

The other Osean pilots stared in silent shock as I broke off to take on the enemy ace directly. Bandog sputtered, "Trigger's taking that beast head on?"

"So this is where Tabloid bows out?" Full Band taunted my wingman.

Tabloid growled and took off to try and back me up against the ace as two of his wingmen emerged on to the scene, "Shit! You're insane Trigger, you know that?"

"Let's do this Tabloid! Watch my rudder!" I called back in appreciation before the Erusean ace and I flew close and buzzed each other. He was trying to intimidate me but neither of us flinched.

The Erusean and I went full speed and did a deadly aerial dance amid the violent wind currents, the rain, and the lightning bolts that split the air. We juked and rolled, accelerated and braked, and tumbled in the air trying to outmaneuver one another for a missile lock. Each time, one of us got a slight edge, the other was able to do an aerial counter to keep us locked in a deadly stalemate. I held my stick and gritted my teeth through a high-G maneuver only for the ace to roll clear of my targeting system and slice through some clouds diving for the valley. Damn! This guy really was the best pilot I had ever fought and I wondered what he thought of me. I felt like I was barely keeping up. One false move and I could end up just like Champ.

I chased him into the rocky narrow crags of the karst trying to keep him in my sights. I fired off one of my last two missiles but my enemy's flares sent it wide. As we entered the valley and wove through the narrow obstacles, our vision was obscured by the fog making our game of tag all the more deadly. I watched the orange Erusean ace roll through the rock formations at high speed and it almost looked like he was having fun and enjoying himself. Was he toying with me too?

He disappeared into some low clouds and as soon as I rounded a stone pillar, the ace jumped out from behind and fired a pair of missiles. I veered sharply to the right and shot off some flares, scattering one missile while the ace's other shot hit the rocks and brought the pillar down behind us.

"Shit! He's on me!" I shouted in alarm to no one. I could hear the pilots of Cyclops and Strider Squadrons talking.

"Do you see that Erusean? He must be Mr. X."

"The pilot of the experimental squadron's X plane? He's way out of our league."

I rolled clear of this Mr. X and pulled his same tight loop-the-loop maneuver on him to gain a momentary advantage. My last high speed missile couldn't lock on so I unloaded my aircraft's guns. A few of my shots hit the X plane as the ace took evasive action amid a shower of sparks.

"He's been hit! Trigger scratched him!" Bandog called. For a moment, it almost sounded like he was happy for me and cheering me on, "Go get em!"

We climbed into the air and I chased Mr. X back into the thunderclouds. There was a lot of turbulence and I struggled to line up a clean shot with my last missile. I was suddenly blinded as lightning hit both our planes again and rattled us. Despite my scrambled sensors, my target brackets went red and I fired. My last missile streaked forward and curved, tagging the Erusean ace in the rear. By some strange miracle or feat of engineering, Mr. X's plane survived as the hull absorbed a lot of the explosive damage. He trailed some smoke and I could see I wounded him, but it would be difficult to finish him off without any more missiles. Before I could switch back to my guns, the enemy ace veered into some thicker clouds and completely disappeared from radar.

"Bandog! I lost sight of Mr. X! Where is he?" I demanded.

"Unable to locate," my controller answered, "The storm is interfering with our sensors. I can't get any clear readings."

"Damn!" I exclaimed in frustration as I pulled out of the clouds and surveyed the battlefield. There was no sign of my enemy. To think, I had come so close to winning my duel with that ace. I could have avenged Brownie, Champ, and probably countless other Osean pilots who had fallen victim to Mr. X.

By now, I was joined by Tabloid and Count who formed up on my wings. Count radioed over, "You let him go?"

"He got away," I answered unhappily.

"You did him a favor then. Let's hope your kindness doesn't get you killed," Count replied grimly.

We rejoined the formation with Strider and Cyclops when Cyclops 1 called Bandog, "Hey Guard Dog, who's the guy who risked his ass for us in the rearguard?"

In true Bandog fasion, he responded, "The biggest dumbass in the unit."

"Makes sense. Only an idiot would be able to pull off those kinds of moves. Will he be at the base when we get back?"

Bandog chortled, "I wouldn't get involved if I were you, sir."

Our exhausted squadrons minus one more limped back from Yinshi back toward Zapland. I guess I must have impressed the leader of Cyclops Squadron, but I doubted it would do much good anyway. I guess I should have been happy I had survived that battle. I had accomplished the mission of protecting our allies. I had regained my nerve against the drone fighters, and in a crazy suicidal stunt, I had fought that Erusean ace to a draw and bloodied his nose. Still… with the loss of another squadmate, I couldn't help but think that it made our victory a lot more hollow.

* * *

The next day, the clouds had begun to part around Zapland and the bright summer sun once again peeked through the haze. Despite the better weather and the rare praise that Spare Squadron received from the recent mission, our mood had been a little more subdued with the loss of Champ. To be honest, I hadn't really cared much for the guy, but as a fellow prisoner and pilot, I still felt some sense of sympathy for him. In a morbid way, maybe it was better he was KIA. At least he wasn't left to languish here on this air base and suffer any more.

In an attempt to keep Spare Squadron's morale from slipping too low, we were ordered back to the runways for manual labor and we welcomed the chance to focus our minds on something else, even if just for a while. On that particular morning, Full Band was sent to do some building maintenance of the hangers, aka janitorial duties while Count, Tabloid, and I were tasked with moving around some of the aircraft from storage. The day was bright and clear as Count drove a little cart that slowly pulled the fighters along as they were put in neutral gear. Tabloid and I walked alongside and helped guide Count as we went about our job.

When Count moved the cart and finished aligning an F-16 in its proper spot, Tabloid and I looked over toward the hangers and spotted the Scrap Queen Avril standing at the open doors looking at us curiously. Tabloid tilted his head slightly drawing my attention, "Hey. Look at that. Is the Scrap Queen checking us out?"

"Us? You wish," I joked with a subdued smile as I clapped his shoulder, "She's obviously checking me out."

"I think your canopy is a little cracked Trigger," Tabloid retorted giving me a light shove forward, "Now you're just deluding yourself."

I laughed and walked away to help Count while Tabloid looked back at Avril and gave a wolfish grin. He watched her give a mild huff before limping back inside the hanger to get back to her own work. Tabloid shrugged and ambled to join the rest of us while quietly chuckling to himself, "Yep. She was definitely looking at me."

To my amazement, maybe Tabloid did have his mojo working that day. After dinner, he and I were spending some downtime in our cell reading some books when Full Band came by carrying a folded note and wearing an impish grin. "Yo Tabloid! Mail call!"

I watched curiously as he took the folded paper and read it before giving a grin, then quickly trying to tuck the paper away.

"Well? What does it say?" I asked before turning to Full Band, "Knowing you, I'm sure you already read it."

The intelligence officer shrugged, "What can I say? Intel is everything. Seems like the Scrap Queen has requested an audience with our boy Tabloid here. She asked to meet him for a drink in the hangers."

I gave a low whistle to tease him as I closed my book, "A late night rendezvous, eh? Sounds interesting."

"Be sure to give us all the lurid details," Full Bad added while making an obscene gesture with his fingers.

"Really funny guys. Laugh it up," Tabloid sighed, throwing a pillow at Full Band and getting up to leave, "Don't wait up Trigger, and try not to feel too jealous either."

"Me? Jealous? Please," I grinned as I watched my friend depart. Full Band started to laugh as I turned to the picture of Princess Rosa taped on the wall, "Well Princess… looks like it's just you and me tonight."

A short time later, Tabloid made his way out to the hangers and found Avril "Scrap Queen" Mead waiting for him there. She was sitting by a work bench with a lit lantern, a couple mugs, and an old bottle of liquor scrounged from the PX. He entered cautiously, "Avril? Hey… you wanted to see me?"

"Yeah," she said pouring some drinks and offering him one, "I actually wanted to talk to you."

"With me?" he asked, "About what?"

"Let's just say I heard some things around the base and your squadron has sparked my interest." Avril decided to go the indirect route and began to tell him about her past, about growing up and losing her father who was a fighter pilot that died in a similar rearguard action. She went on to talk about the jets she put together and how she flew an illegal aircraft and got shot down for it. In turn, Tabloid told her about how he had espoused some anarchist political views and openly defied the Osean government earning him a stay at the 444th as well. He told her his story with a narrative flair and expressed his love of adventurous and romantic literature.

Avril swirled her drink in her cup, "Actually, I'd like you to tell me another story... about what happened with your sortie up in Yinshi Valley. I heard some major shit went down."

Tabloid sat with a far off look in his eyes, "Yeah… how could I forget that day now? I'm sure it'd make a hell of a story for a novel one day."

He sighed and began to narrate to himself, "Amidst the swirling clouds, a fighter squadron was trying to help its allies reach safety. Suddenly a highly skilled enemy squadron appeared, picking them off at the edges…"

He went on to relay the events of the battle in detail while Avril sat and listened, admiring both his story telling skill, but also the actions of the new hotshot pilot named Trigger, the same Trigger she had told off some time ago. Perhaps she had been a little quick to judge him and the rest of Spare Squadron.

"Your friend Trigger... he was pretty foolish to rush headlong into battle like that, huh?" she asked.

He shrugged, "I thought so too."

Avril studied him in the dim light, "There was no one else crazy enough to assist? They all watched the fight from the sidelines?"

"Well yeah… I mean, who would have thought I'd be the only one crazy enough to follow him right into the enemy squadron like that?" he admitted, "Hell, I was just following Trigger's lead and managed not to die somehow."

She nodded quietly and then looked to him, "Why did you do it? Why follow that madman into battle?"

He shrugged again and took a long drink, "I dunno. I guess I've kinda come to see Trigger as my buddy. He's a good guy and I couldn't let him die out there alone. In a weird way, I just felt a sense of loyalty to a comrade who was willing to do something so brave for others, you know?"

Avril nodded and couldn't help but grace him with an enigmatic smile. They shared a brief companionable silence before she asked, "So... how do you feel about all this now?"

"I'm still kinda shaken up actually," he said honestly, "But you know? I still feel a certain sense of pride too. Since Trigger came along, it's like all of us in Spare Squadron started to feel more together... like we have a purpose again... and that maybe we'll make it out somehow."

Avril smirked and gave a small snort, "Your pal Trigger certainly is foolish, isn't he?"

Tabloid grinned and clinked his cup with hers, "Yup. He sure is."

* * *

Late that evening, Full Band lay in his cot with the covers drawn up over him. As he pretended to sleep, he tinkered with a small transistor radio that he had cobbled together. After the guards made their regular rounds of the cell blocks, he would turn the radio back on and keep the volume down so that he could try to pick up stray radio signals. It was an imperfect method of trying to sort through the static but every once in a while, he would be able to pick up local chatter. What drove him the most was his desire to try and pick out any late night transmissions from Bandog again as he could have sworn he had stumbled on something suspicious.

As he manipulated the radio, he filtered out some static until he heard a broken signal with another familiar voice. Full Band frowned and listened as he heard none other than Col. McKinsey having a broken conversation with someone. The person on the other end said, "Yinshi was... success."

"You have... data that you need?" Mckinsey answered, "*garbled* drones weren't enough."

"We have... rolling out new weapon... Helios," came the response.

McKinsey spoke again in disjointed static, "Won't be safe... need your guarantee... Osea will come after me."

Full Band's eyes went wide as he continued to listen. Was he hearing this right? Was McKinsey speaking to an enemy through a back channel? Maybe plotting treason even?

He heard the person on the other end speak up, "Something with this radio band insecure? Someone tapping? Reconfirm access codes."

Full Band immediately switched off the radio and lay in the dark quiet of the cell. Had they just noticed someone was listening in on them? He held his breath and lay motionless, pretending to sleep but his heart was beating out of his chest. Something was going on, and he just stepped right into it. He debated about telling his fellow Spares, but it was a big risk too. Could he trust them? It seemed only time would tell.

* * *

 **A/N:**  
 **So just a quick heads up readers, I'm planning on skipping over most of the next mission: Pipeline Destruction. To me, it felt like more of a filler plot which wouldn't really advance the overall story too much so apologies to anyone who wanted to see a giant sandstorm or an oilfield get blown apart. In the mean time, I'll try to get the next chapters out in a timely manner so hopefully you'll still enjoy those. Thanks as always to those who are still sticking with this fic!**


	10. Counterintelligence

A few days later, Spare Squadron had been tasked with launching an air raid on an Erusean fuel depot. Apparently, HQ figured that if we could cause enough damage, it would hinder the operations of the enemy drones in the region. If I was being honest with myself, this was the first time I found our objective to be appealing. It was about time we really took some initiative and if that meant hurting those damned drones, then I was on board.

The operation had been set to commence in the afternoon and our squadron was being prepped to take off in the late morning. On this particular day, Full Band had seemed to have fallen ill and didn't join the briefing. When we heard he was on sick call, we were more surprised when we got word that he wanted to meet us before we left for the raid. As we waited in one of the empty adjoining hangers where our planes had been parked, Count gave an irritable sigh as he waited with Tabloid and I. "Geez, it's so hot and muggy out today. It's bad enough Full Band is sick, but what is so important that he has to tell us here in this sweltering heat?"

Tabloid and I exchanged a quiet shrug before the doors opened and Full Band shuffled in. He looked a bit disheveled and unkempt and once he closed the door and saw were alone, he immediately straightened up and looked a lot more energetic. "Oh, good. You guys haven't left. Thanks for meeting me."

"What the hell is going on here Full Band?" Count responded with growing irritation, "You're suddenly looking a lot better."

Tabloid scowled and crossed his arms in equal disapproval, "Count is right. Are you pussing out and trying to get out of flying this mission?"

"Yes and no," Full Band said hurriedly as he came over and lowered his voice, "I have a good explanation for faking my sickness today. Just hear me out?"

We waited and then listened as Full Band recounted some strange events and research he had gone over in the past several days. He told us about more late night radio broadcasts he tapped into involving Col. McKinsey and Bandog to some mysterious people. According to Full Band, the passwords and codes used before and after transmission were similar in style to that of the Erusean military. From what little bits he heard, he also told us about some enemy project called Helios and how the colonel might have been coordinating with the enemy in several missions that we had flown already. When he finished, I raised my hand, 'Whoah… hold up. You really think McKinsey might be traitor? That he's colluding with the Eruseans and maybe even planning to defect?"

"There are some troubling coincidences which back up Full Band's theory," Tabloid admitted with a grim expression, "On almost every mission, we've been getting ambushed by the enemy, either from those drones or that killer ace in orange. It's making me wonder if that whole battle in Yinshi was really a setup."

Count frowned and grudgingly agreed, "I'm normally inclined not to buy into all of Full Band's conspiracy theories but it is a little odd. Still, why would he be feeding intel to the Eruseans?"

Full Band's expression darkened, "I did a little digging and talked to some people around here. It turns out McKinsey might have an axe to grind with High Command. I hear he had been a little bitter about being passed over for promotion several times and then getting stuck here with the penal unit."

"You really think he'd go that far because of that?" I asked curiously.

"If he's hit a dead end, where else would he go?" Full Band replied, "It's possible he thinks the Eruseans could be on the winning side of this conflict if he knows anything about that Helios weapon."

"Listen, I hate McKinsey as much as the rest of you guys but accusing a high ranking officer of treason is pretty big," I reasoned, "We're going to need some solid evidence to really prove that."

"Which is why I'm going to need your help," Full Band said, "I know that McKinsey and Bandog have been secretly broadcasting from the auxiliary control tower that is always locked up during the day. I plan to get in there and dig around for something juicy."

Tabloid shook his head, "Uh, Full Band? You do know there's an armed guard that's always posted there, right? How the hell do you plan to get past him?"

Full Band grinned and pulled out a wad of money he had gotten from High Roller's stash, "I was thinking of being extra persuasive. While you guys are gone and everyone's attention is on your mission, I could bribe the guard and slip in the tower for a little while."

Count raised a skeptical eyebrow, "I think you're going to need a bit more money than that to buy the guard, chief."

"Which is why I was hoping you guys could help me."

The three of us exchanged a troubled look before I stepped forward and offered him some of my cut of High Roller's cash. I gave him a hard serious look, "Okay Full Band. You do what you have to, but if this op goes south, this was all on you. The rest of us had nothing to do with it and we had no knowledge of it either, you got that?"

Full Band nodded and took the money, "Yeah. That's fair. Thanks Trigger."

"You actually believe him?" Tabloid asked me.

I furrowed my brows, "I have no reason not to. If McKinsey is dirty, then it needs to get out."

I turned and headed from the hangers with my other two wingmen in tow. Full Band watched us depart and called out, "I won't let you guys down! I promise!"

We successfully carried out the mission on the Erusean fuel depot later that day while Full Band executed his own covert operation. Fortunately, we didn't lose anyone else in battle today though Full Band's absence almost gave us the feeling that we had lost another one. Had he been caught, he'd probably be as good as dead anyway. When Spare Squadron returned, we met with Full Band in his cell that night to share our news. After we finished relating the results of our raid, Tabloid scratched his chin thoughtfully, "You know… it was the damnedest thing. When we hit a couple of trucks in the field today, they really went up in a big blast, bigger and brighter than I had ever seen."

"Maybe it's some kind of special fuel that the drones use? One that's extra volatile?" I speculated.

"Well, whatever that was all about, let's just be glad Full Band made it back to tell his tale," Count remarked sitting on High Roller's empty cot, "I'm guessing you had some luck?"

"Yes… and no," Full Band sighed, "I was able to convince the guard to go on an extended break and I was able to hack into the digital records of the computers in the tower. I managed to back up a bunch of the files, but the only problem is they're heavily encrypted. It's real high level senior officer type stuff that I've never dealt with before."

"But you think you can decipher it?" I asked curiously.

Full Band shrugged, "I can try, but it might take some time. I've been buttering up one of the computer techs at the base, a female airman and she might let me play around on some of the computers if she's nearby."

"Damn Full Band, you're really manipulating everyone around here," Count remarked, "You got Trigger to give you money, you bribed a guard, and now a lab tech? You think you can talk the cook into giving me more food while you're at it?"

Full Band wore a surprisingly sober look, "This is nothing to joke around about Count. This is serious and we have to treat it seriously."

"You mean what you did," I reminded him, "Maybe something will turn up, or maybe it won't."

"You're doing that cover your own ass Trigger?"

I narrowed my eyes, "I'm saying this to cover the rest of the squadron's asses Full Band. As long as there are some of us who can stay alive, we can keep fighting."

"Or we can blackmail McKinsey. Barter for our freedom or bring him down," Full Band argued, "We're all involved now. We either do this together or we all go down together as a squad."

"This is a real dangerous game you're playing. I can't help but wonder if you've pulled this before?" Tabloid mused to the intelligence officer, "Like if this is what landed you in the penal unit in the first place?"

Full Band scowled and turned away for a moment, "Let's just say that I got a bit too curious one day and found the Osean Air Force's data security systems weren't as secure as they thought. The CO got pissed and in order to save face, he busted me down and threw me here."

"Please tell me this isn't something personal," I frowned, "If you're risking us because of your pride now..."

"What do I have to lose anymore? Full Band replied heatedly, "I'm trying to help us survive here. If that means striking back and taking down the guy who's trying to kill us right now, then why not?"

"We don't know that for sure," Count pointed out, "That data is still encrypted."

"I know that. Just give me a little more time," Full Band said gravely, "Please. Put a little more trust in me. If it turns out I'm wrong... then you guys can turn me in yourselves."

The others looked to me and I scrutinized the man for a long moment. Before I turned and walked out of the cell, I raised a finger and said with a stern look, "For all our sake... you'd better not be wrong about this Full Band."

Later that evening, Colonel McKinsey sat in his office doing some late night paperwork when he heard a knock at the door. He continued working and didn't even look up as Bandog entered the room and marched up to his desk to offer a salute. There was a long silence as the colonel continued the work at his desk. "Well? What's so important?"

Bandog stepped forward with an electronic tablet and offered it to McKinsey, "Sir, I have a security issue that's come to our attention and I think you should be aware. It has to do with Tower 2."

McKinsey looked up slowly and took the tablet which had a video recording of it from a security camera. The colonel watched as a man in a prison jumpsuit entered the tower's control room and began rifling around the desks and computers. After some short work, it looked like the intruder had extracted some data and covered his tracks. Had there not been a hidden security camera in the room, he would have gotten away with it too. As the intruder turned around, McKinsey could see the face of Full Band clearly before he left the room again.

"Sir, Full Band had been registered on sick call today, but it seems he had other plans," Bandog said in concern, "I'm still looking into how he managed to even get into the tower, but if he's found out about what we've been up to, this could be really bad for us."

"Even if he finds out, no one will ever know much less believe him," McKinsey said calmly as he leaned back in his chair with a cool diabolical smile.

Bandog titled his head slightly, "Sir?"

"Let Full Band think he's in control and that he's gotten away with this for now. I'll deal with him in my own way."

"And what about the rest of the squadron? What if they know?" Bandog asked.

McKinsey gave a level glare, "Keep your eyes on the Spares for now. I have an idea to silence any rats and accomplish a few other goals in the mean time."

* * *

Several days later, Spare Squadron was called in for another mission briefing by the colonel and we gathered in the room he set aside for it. As the lights went dark and the digital displays went up, McKinsey stepped forward wearing a stone faced expression, "It seems like headquarters is starting to view some of you in the penal unit as a valid military force... or at least that's what the rumors are. But I think that's bullshit. The only reason you're here is because I have to find some way to keep you convicts out of trouble and make you useful instead."

"So that we can do all the real work while you sit on your ass and get medals?" Full Band interjected defiantly surprising the rest of us.

McKinsey scowled and rebuked him sharply, "You! As soon as you get back, your ass is getting thrown in solitary!"

He paused a moment and composed himself before continuing, "Okay... on to the mission briefing. For this op, you're going into Erusean territory. We know the Erusean forces' communications facility to the north in the Wiapolo Mountains is linked to the swarm of drones. Your mission is critical. You will destroy the facility and then weaken those drones. The area is watched over by spy satellites. If discovered, expect AA missiles. Unless you have a death wish, you can probably use the clouds along the sides and base of the mountains for cover."

"So we're playing a life or death game of peekaboo. Wonderful," Tabloid muttered unhappily.

"How you feel about the mission is irrelevant pilot. You will do your job or die trying," McKinsey responded harshly. It seemed he wasn't taking any crap today. "If there are no other questions, you're dismissed."

As the meeting adjourned, we made out way out to the hangers to make preparations and Count elbowed Full Band, "What the hell was all that about? You trying to pick a fight with McKinsey already?"

Full Band gave a thin smile, "I have my reasons. I have some intel to report to you guys but I need to go take care of something first. I'll meet you guys in a little while to talk before launch, okay?"

"Where is he going?" Count huffed before throwing his hands up and walking off to his plane, "I give up."

Tabloid grimaced slightly, "I don't know Trigger. Full Band's acting really weird now... more secretive than usual. You think he found something crazy?"

"I don't know what to think," I answered in concern before heading to my own plane, "But I guess we'll find out soon enough. I'll see you in a bit."

I crossed the hanger to do a pre-flight check on my Super Hornet and stopped in surprise when I saw the Scrap Queen herself studying the fighter's manifold underneath a wing. I approached cautiously, "Avril? Hey... this is a surprise."

The female mechanic turned and regarded me coolly, "You should be surprised. I was looking over your fighter just now and making sure the new modifications are all good."

"Modifications?" I asked with a start.

Avril nodded, "Yeah. I did a lot of work on your engines and electronics. They were in serious need of an upgrade. Good news is, you should have a bit more thrust in your jets and the avionics will be more reliable. Same with Tabloid's."

"Uh... thanks," I said still looking shocked, "If you don't mind me asking, why?"

Avril scrunched her features and shrugged a little, "I don't know. I felt I kinda owed it to you. I was kinda mean to you when you first introduced yourself so this is my way of making it up to you."

I blinked in surprise and nodded along as she continued, "I've been hearing a lot about you Spares recently and I guess part of me is kinda rooting for your guys. You guys have been defying the odds and keeping McKinsey from killing you all, so I guess I wanted to do my part to help even the odds."

"You also souped up Tabloid's fighter too?"

Avril was caught off guard a moment and shrugged again, "Oh... well... yeah. It was because of him that I changed my mind a little bit about you Spares. I can appreciate the way that scrawny anarchist tells a story."

"I see. I guess I can pass the message along," I said with a small grin.

Avril shook her head and raised a small wrench to my nose in mild warning, "If you really want to help me, then do me a couple favors. Make sure you and Tabloid don't fly like dumbasses out there and bring those fighters back in one piece. I put a lot of work into them, okay?"

"Yes ma'am," I said in amusement giving her a mock salute before she shuffled off. While that little exchange with Avril did put me in better spirits, I knew I had to start focusing again. We still had another dangerous mission ahead along with whatever grim news Full Band was sure to sure soon. Something told me things were about to get very interesting, and little did I know... they would.


	11. Blue on Blue

Before we were scheduled for takeoff, Full band gathered our squad together for a brief "strategy session." In truth, he gave us a report about what he had managed to uncover from his stolen data. It turned out McKinsey had been feeding intel to the Eruseans and planning to defect after all. Whether it was because he was bitter at High Command or because he thought the Eruseans were going to win, we couldn't be sure. For now, it seemed he was hedging his bets and basically buying his pass into gaining asylum in Erusea. Unfortunately, we didn't have much time. It looked like he was planning to carry this out in less than two weeks.

"I don't understand. What's the point of this mission then? Wouldn't it still hinder Erusean operations?" Tabloid asked.

Full Band wore a grim look and shrugged, "Who knows? Maybe it's just cover, or maybe it's another setup?"

"That deep into Erusean territory? I don't know," Count grimaced.

"Whatever the case, we should stay on guard," I said to everyone, "We'll keep our mouths shut and our ears open. Once we get back to base, we can figure out what to do from there."

As the meeting adjourned and everyone went toward their fighters, Full Band pulled me aside and spoke quietly into my ear, "Trigger, I know we're about to go into combat again, but if something happens to me out there, I need you to know something. I made a backup copy of the data we need to incriminate McKinsey. I put it in a thumbdrive and hid it under the cot in your room, wedged within the slats."

"What? Are you insane? Why me?"

Full Band kept a level expression, "You were the one who helped me and believed in my theory. I get the sense you want to do right too so that's why I'm trusting you, just like you trusted me."

I stared at him a moment before shaking my head, "Full Band, relax. Nothing is going to happen to you out there. We'll watch your back."

He narrowed his features and held out a hand, "Whatever you do, don't act like you know too much. If I get tagged by McKinsey for spying, I need you three to keep flying and finish the job. Promise me?"

I exhaled and gave a long sigh before shaking his hand in agreement, "Yeah... I promise. Now let's get going"

* * *

After Spare Squadron had left the air base, we made our way inland toward the Wiapolo Mountain range. once we approached our destination, we dropped altitude and saw thick banks of clouds covering the rocky mountain valleys. With any luck, those would be enough to cover our approach from the enemy radar and missiles above. As we roared in low toward the entrance to the mountain chain, I heard Count give a sigh, "You know, I'm not really digging this altitude restriction. Feels like we're in a pretty enclosed space, huh?"

"I'm sure you know all about that," Bandog retorted, "Enclosed like solitary."

"Don't give Bandog any ideas guys," I said dryly, "He seems to get off on just thinking about solitary."

"Try me any time Trigger," our controller taunted. It was hard to tell if he was being sarcastic or not but I chose not to answer his threat.

"All right Spare Squadron, we have four targets around the valley," I said, "Let's split up and hit those radar facilities hard and fast before they knew what hit them."

Everyone responded in affirmatives and split off down different paths using the cloud cover, "Copy that."

As I wove through the narrow passes and approached my target, I heard Bandog remind us, "Remember, the enemy missiles are guided by a combination of satellites and the radar facilities. If you knock out the radar sites, the missiles should not be able to hit their targets."

"You sure you can trust that intel?" Full Band challenged.

Bandog chortled, "Only one way to find out. Why don't you make yourself useful for once and fly as a decoy for those missiles?"

"No one is going to be taking any missiles," I answered as I pulled up quickly from the clouds to strike a nearby radar facility on the top of a mountainside, "Locked. Fox-1."

I launched a missile and watched as it obliterated the radar site in a fireball before I ducked back under the clouds acting like a shark that was lurking around for its next kill. One by one, my wingmates all hit their sites and reported confirmation of their destruction. As we pulled up and regrouped above the clouds, we all enjoyed a minute of peace and quiet. There were no missile locks. Only clear blue skies and sun streaming down over the snowy mountains. Tabloid muttered, "Not that I mind or anything, but this has probably been the easiest straightforward mission we've had in quite a while. You guys ready to head home?"

As Spare Squadron leveled off and cruised over the snowy mountains, we all began to breathe another sigh of relief when we heard Bandog cut in over the radio, "Wait! Hold it!"

To our surprise, several radar blips appeared on our sensors and if we squinted, we could see what looked to be a whole squadron of aircraft approaching from the distance. Tabloid tried to get a better look and asked, "What's going on Bandog?"

Our controller ignored him and sounded like he was radioing the incoming bogeys, "This is the Air Force Base 444 Squadron. What is your affiliation?"

No answer. As both of our squadrons neared, we could start to get a visual on them and they looked to be Osean aircraft, F-18's. Was there another allied squadron operating in the region too? I had no idea there would be this many. I tried my radio, "Incoming allied fighters, please respond."

"You're wasting your time Trigger," Count sighed, "The regular forces probably don't want anything to do with units from the penal base."

That was when things took a turn for the worse. All of us suddenly heard the familiar buzzing warning sounds of enemy radar systems trying to achieve a missile lock. Count's eyes went wide, "What the hell? They have radar locks on us? The IFF says they're allies!"

Just then, one of the mysterious bogeys fired off a missile at Tabloid causing the rest of us to scatter. "Spare Squadron! Break! Break!" Tabloid shouted as he took evasive action to dodge the projectile.

Our squadron did likewise and scattered in the air as the bogeys in Osean paint pounced on us. As I veered and rolled through the chaotic aerial melee, I could hear Full Band calling out, "Whoah! Someone's on me! Are they enemies? Are these guys spoofing our IFFs?"

"Our IFFs are directly connected to our strategic satellites. They cannot be decoded," Bandog answered in a level, almost detached tone.

"What if they got hacked, or leaked to the enemy?" Tabloid asked as he narrowly evaded another enemy.

"That is impossible. Information regarding IFFs is top secret. There's no way the enemy could make a fake and it's no concern of yours right now!" Bandog rebuked him.

Count swerved around and shook off an enemy missile before joining me in midair, "Well if these guys aren't actually Oseans, they're probably flying captured aircraft."

No sooner had Count said that, I buzzed a nearby bogey and took a look in the cockpit. To my shock and horror, I didn't see any living pilot in he cockpit. I took a look at another bogey as it roared by me and it confirmed my suspicions. How the heck was this possible? "Negative Count. I'm not seeing any pilots! These bogeys look like drone fighters wearing our colors!

"Shit! How are we going to fight them if we can't target them or lock on with our weapons?" Tabloid added in fear.

I knew we were sitting ducks out here. We needed to buy some time so that we could regroup and try to form a new strategy. I took my plane into a dive toward the misty cloudy valleys below, "Follow me Spare Squadron. Let's make a break for the clouds and get out of the enemy's sights."

"And then what?" Count demanded.

"I don't know! I'm making this up as I go along here!" I replied in annoyance as we broke off and the Spares dipped back under the clouds to try and shake our pursuers, "Does anyone have any bright ideas? I'm all ears."

There was a long moment of silence before Tabloid spoke up, "I think I do... but you have to trust me."

"I've been hearing that quite a bit lately," I muttered in dread, "What's the plan Tabloid?"

"All aircraft, gather around Trigger."

I blinked in shock, "What?"

"Are you crazy? What good is that?" Count asked but Tabloid ignored him.

"Bandog, can you reset your tactical systems and register the blips around Trigger as friendlies?"

Our controller paused for a long moment before answering, "Sure."

"All right, all aircraft form up around Trigger, nice and tight," Tabloid said with conviction.

I looked over my shoulders and to my amazement, my three wingmen gathered behind me in a close diamond formation. "Guys?"

"You've gotten us this far Trigger," Full Band called out, "You're our ace and you've brought us together. If we're going to survive, we need you to lead us now."

"Stick with Trigger and we'll make it." Tabloid confirmed, "Count?"

There was a long pause before I heard him answer, "Roger that."

I was completely taken aback. In this dire moment of peril, the core of Spare Squadron was rallying together... around me. I had never been a flight leader before but these guys were putting their lives and their trust in my hands. I wasn't going to let them down. We may have been castoffs, criminals, and outcasts that no one else wanted, but right now we were Spare Squadron and that was all we needed. That was the only thing that mattered.

"Thanks guys," I answered, "Spare Squadron, prepare to ascend and engage the enemy. If we're going down here, we're going to do it fighting! Bandog? It's on you now!"

Our controller radioed back, "Full Band? What's your location?"

He answered "The tail end."

"Understood. Targeting ID systems updated. All other contacts will be tagged as enemies."

I throttled up and led my squadron skyward back through the clouds to meet the enemy circling above. As we burst from the cloud cover into the blue skies and the bright sun above, I gave a shout, "Let's take it to em!"

Spare Squadron rose from the low clouds like screaming phoenix birds ascending from the smoke as we fired a volley of missiles and gunfire. The enemy bandits scattered and moved to meet our attack. I got a bead on a drone and angled in to match its flight path, "Spare 15, engaging!"

Our backs were to the wall but we were not going to let a bunch of machines outfly real humans, not today. My targeting brackets went red and I let fly a heatseeker, "Spare 15, Fox-2."

The missile curved in a perfect arc and blasted the thrusters of the enemy causing it to leave a fiery streak behind it before it exploded in midair. From my vantage point, my wingmen seemed to take some encouragement from my example as they each pulled some fancy moves and registered one kill apiece. Amid the scramble in the skies, I let off some flares to shake off an enemy missile before returning fire with my guns. The shots hit the cockpit of the drone head on and must have shredded its main CPU as the enemy tumbled from the skies and crashed into the mountains below. "Don't let up Spares! Keep fighting!"

"No way I'm dying out here today," Full Band called over the radio until Bandog responded.

"This is the penal unit. I decide when you die. Pilots! Air contact! Projectile incoming ... it's too fast to be an aircraft."

Count frowned in confusion as he downed another bandit, "Huh? What's going on?"

We saw a small radar blip enter the airspace followed by Bandog counting down from five. The moment the countdown reached zero, our squadron was blinded by bright blue lights and rocked from the force of several large midair explosions. The hull of my Hornet rattled and my sensors flickered for a moment as shockwaves buffeted us and several large orbs of fiery blue light hung in the air. I steadied my wings and shouted,"Son of a bitch! Were those shockwaves? What the hell was that thing?"

Bandog's voice cut in, "Oh... by the way, transmission from HQ says that weapon is codenamed Helios. Seems like it's a long range missile carried by Arsenal Birds."

"Are you serious? And you're just telling us now?" Tabloid sputtered in outrage, "How can the enemy fire like that when they might have allies in the airspace? Don't they care?"

"Silence. Focus on the task at hand here Tabloid."

Bandog was right, but none of this was making sense anymore. We continued our dogfight with the drone Hornets in Osean colors and saw at least two of them had been incinerated by the friendly fire. Full Band had mentioned McKinsey was involved with something called Helios. Still, why were they firing here? And how had those drones spoofed our IFF? Was someone like Bandog or McKinsey really responsible for sharing intel with the Eruseans and setting this up as some kind of test? I didn't have time to think about it as the battle raged around me and Bandog reported another incoming Helios missile.

I could hear the frantic chatter of my wingmen as I evaded another enemy and pulled a high-G maneuver to get around him before lining up another missile lock. I had just enough time to get another shot off and shoot down the drone before the next Helios projectile hit. The skies were shattered again with thunder and blinding explosions that rattled every bone in your body while the remaining combatants scrambled to get clear. Once I regained my senses, I thought I saw my radar was clear of enemy blips when I heard Bandog radio Count, "Count, one to go. You don't want Trigger to beat your score today. Go get him!"

"What? Where? I can't see him," Full Band answered as his eyes readjusted from the glare of the last explosion that cleared the skies.

"Righto! This is it! I've got the last one!" Count called eagerly.

I blinked and tried to reorient myself from the Helios blast too. Was I seeing things right? Were my instruments shot? "Control, this is Spare 15. I'm not registering any hostiles on radar. Please advise."

To my shock, I looked out the corner of my eye and saw Count circle around fire a missile directly at Full Band's aircraft. Full Band gave a surprised cry as the missile struck his fuselage and caused the cockpit of his F-18 to shred off and explode, "What the... damn it! God damn it! Why..."

His voice gave out to static and I heard Tabloid give an alarmed shout, "Full Band's down! Was it friendly fire? Was he tagged as an enemy?"

It took me a moment for the realization to strike me. After the triumph and exhilaration of rallying against overwhelming odds and surviving the Helios missiles, we were now faced with sudden tragedy. Was it possible Bandog just painted a target on Full Band and had him killed on accident? Was it because he and McKinsey were wise to Full Band? What about the rest of us? "Count... what have you done?"

Count sputtered in shock, "Full Band? I... I didn't mean to... how..."

It took him a moment to put some pieces together and come to the same conclusion. Count's voice grew louder and had a sharp edge of fury, "Full Band was marked as an enemy on my HUD! This was your fault! You did this on purpose Bandog!"

"Did what?" our controller asked with venom dripping from his words.

"Don't play dumb with me! Full Band!" Count shouted again, knowing his cries to his fallen comrade were futile.

After a long silence, Bandog spoke, "It was an accident. Things got out of control here. Return to base."

"You son of a bitch! I won't forgive you for this Bandog!" Count exploded until I stepped in with a sharp rebuke.

"Count! Not now! Keep your bearing and follow me back to base."

He protested, "But..."

"That's an order Count!" I answered before turning my plane and heading for home. I felt sick to my stomach right now. I was terrified of what just happened and the thought of McKinsey targeting one of us next. I was furious at the action they had taken and I was distraught over the loss of another comrade. I had promised them I would get them through. So much for that. As a fighter pilot i was trained to know that letting your emotions get in the way of your judgment was a dangerous thing in battle. You could lose your focus and not only get yourself killed but get your wingmates killed too. Right now I had a long flight back to base and I would focus on a new plan... one to avenge our friends and to end this madness once and for all.


	12. Pariah

Upon returning to base, the remnants of Spare Squadron touched down and we parked our planes in our hanger. With just three of us left, the hanger was feeling bigger and emptier every time we came back from these missions. Once we got out of our aircraft, Count furiously tossed aside some of his flight gear and began storming for the door. Tabloid and I hurried to try and bar his path but he began to push past. "Get out of my way you guys! I've had enough of this shit! I'm going to kill Bandog with my own two hands and then I'll go for McKinsey next!"

I used my whole body to restrain him as he tried to struggle, "Whoah! Hold it Count! You've gotta cool down!"

"No! Let me go Trigger!" he growled trying to shove me off. We violently grappled for a moment until I put him in a headlock.

"Hey! That's enough! Listen to me!"

He thrashed a few more times until he finally let up some allowing me to speak, "We're not going to do any good if we storm into McKinsey's office and flip the desk over. They killed Full Band to send a message to us and if they think we know any more, then they might line us up out back and put bullets in our heads right now. If we're going to take down McKinsey, we do this the right way."

Count took several calming breaths before shoving my arms off, "All right Trigger. Since you're the big shot squadron leader now, you tell me. What do we do?"

I exchanged a look with Tabloid and said, "Full Band left a copy of his data for me in a secret place. No doubt they're going to search Full Band's room and confiscate all his belongings."

"All right, so we have evidence that will pin the colonel to the wall. What are we going to do with this intel anyway? We can't get it to the outside world without the colonel knowing."

I nodded gravely, "Yes. I say we use that intel to exonerate ourselves when important Osean officers from the outside question us."

"Question us? For what?" Tabloid asked. There was a long pause and he looked me square in the eyes before blinking. His face went pale with a look of pure dread, "Oh... no. You can't actually be serious. You really intend to..."

"Take matters into our own hands? Why not? What do we have to lose?" I asked, "Either way, McKinsey will still try to find an excuse to feed us to the wolves."

Count looked around and lowered his voice, "When and how do you even expect to pull this little stunt off?"

"Full Band told me McKinsey plans to defect in just under two weeks from now. We'll bide our time and then strike once we're airborne. Until then, we need to play dumb and act like Mckinsey's scared us into submission. He doesn't think much of us so I say we use that to our advantage."

Count remained silent and then shifted his gaze over to Tabloid who met him with a silent nod. Count remained stone faced and stalked off echoing my words to Full Band, "You'd better not be wrong about this Trigger."

* * *

That evening, Bandog entered the messy office of Colonel McKinsey and closed the door. He carried a folder and delivered it to his superior officer who sat behind his desk with his plans. "Colonel. I came to deliver the full report of Operation Flush... at least what we plan to put on the record."

McKinsey looked up and took the folder to breeze through it. As he paged through, he gave a dismissive snort before tossing the file aside, "Hmm, it looks like that nosy intelligence officer didn't make it after all. What a pity."

The sarcasm was not lost on Bandog before the colonel asked, "Have you searched his belongings?"

"We did a sweep of his room. We found his modified radio and this," Bandog answered producing a thumbdrive with the pilfered data and setting it on the desk. "He had hidden it and looked like he had no intention on sharing it with anyone else. I can't imagine what he planned to do with it."

The colonel took the thumbdrive and studied it, "Whatever the case, it seems we're safe again. What about his squadmates?"

"I think we sent the last of the Spares a message," Bandog said calmly, "They weren't happy during their debriefing, but they didn't mouth off as much either."

McKinsey nodded, "Good, because I'll need them for one more mission. I want them to get ready for launch on August 5th."

Bandog paused and thought it over before looking to his commander, "Sir... isn't that the day we're going to..."

"Turn ourselves in to the Eruseans? Yes. Prepare to make one more secret transmission tonight. That is, unless you're having second thoughts."

Bandog thought it over silently for a moment before shaking his head, "No. I plan to join with the winning side too. You can count on me, sir."

* * *

Meanwhile in his cell block, Tabloid lay on his cot staring up at the ceiling above him in silence. He wasn't in the right mindset and he didn't feel like reading. He was still upset by the events of the day in how they suddenly took a tragic turn for the worse with Full Band's death. Or perhaps murder was the better word. There were a lot of uncertainties now and he wasn't even sure how to make any sense of it. As he sat lost in thought, he almost didn't hear the knock at the cell door. Tabloid looked up in surprise and found Avril standing with a neutral look on her face.

He sat up quickly, "Avril? I... what are you doing here?"

"Hey. I uh... came to check on you and Trigger. I heard some stuff went down in the Wiapolo Mountains today and your planes were pretty banged up when they came back to us. I only saw three return this time."

Tabloid's expression darkened, "You heard right. We lost Full Band today. Count is taking it pretty hard and Trigger didn't seem to happy about everything either. I think he went off to go find Count and talk to him some more."

Avril nodded quietly and folded her hands as she shuffled over to sit down on the empty cot across from him, "How about you? Are you doing okay?"

He shrugged and gave a sheepish expression to his books nearby, "I dunno. I guess I must be pretty upset too. You don't see me reading right now, do you?"

Avril looked to him with a hint of sympathy and said quietly, "I was thinking. Instead of you reading a story tonight, why don't you tell me a story instead? I think you might feel better if you do."

Elsewhere in the base, I walked out the hangers to find Count sitting outside in the night air. The hanger doors were cracked open and in the dim light, he sat on some crates looking up to the skies. He didn't seem to notice my approach until I came to join him, "Hey. Imposing your own kind of solitary confinement? Because I can tell you, this sure as hell beats the cooler."

Count turned with an irritated scowl, "Is that supposed to be funny Trigger? I have half a mind to punch you in the mouth right now."

I ignored his threat and sat down next to him on the crates, "Save your strength. I came out here to talk to you. Not to fight."

Count calmed down a little went back to looking at the skies, "You're wasting your time then. I don't feel like saying anything right now."

"Yeah... I kind of doubt that," I replied calmly, "Besides, I have to repay a debt here."

Count stopped and stared at me recalling the time he had given me a talk and helped pull me out of a similar funk involving the death of High Roller and a fear of the drones. He exhaled slowly and nodded as a brief companionable silence settled in between the two of us. I waited patiently until he finally spoke, "I was stupid Trigger. I got caught up in the moment. The others had named you as our squadron leader and I was so hell bent on showing you up in battle that I didn't think. I let myself kill Full Band."

"That wasn't your fault," I said, "Bandog tricked you. He tricked all of us."

"It doesn't matter," Count argued, "I still screwed up."

I shook my head, "Count... don't do this to yourself. Tabloid and I don't blame you for what happened. We were upset at Full Band's death too and we want revenge for it just as much as you do. It's okay to grieve, but we can't lose focus and feel sorry for ourselves either. I made a promise to Full Band that we'd take McKinsey down and that's what we're going to do."

Count nodded quietly and thought it over. After a long moment he said, "You know what Trigger? In a strange way... I think I kind of understand how you must have felt when President Harling died."

"I told you I didn't kill him," I said but Count nodded.

"Yeah, I'm sorta starting to believe you about that now, but I'm sure it didn't make you feel any less guilty or remorseful, right?"

I paused and nodded quietly, "I guess you could say that. It still weighs on my mind at times."

Count gave a quiet snort to himself, "You know what the real kicker is though Trigger? It's how my thinking has changed recently and the fact I'm even feeling this way right now."

"What do you mean?"

Count clasped his hands and frowned pensively, "When I first came here, I didn't really give a damn... about my situation, about this place, or about anyone here. I was determined to make my way on my own and not really rely on anyone else. But all that changed when you joined the squad."

I blinked, "Me?"

"Yeah. Full Band was right. You brought our squad together. You helped give us direction and a sense of hope that we'd be able to claw our way out of this hell hole. You were the person this squad rallied around and I can see why they wanted to make you squadron leader. I guess what I'm trying to say is..."

"Is that you care about this squad and the people within it?" I offered quietly.

He shifted about with a sheepish look trying to maintain his pride, "I guess you could say that."

I gave a quiet smile and replied, "Well... I won't get all soft and mushy on you here, but thanks Count. That means a lot. I promise you we'll avenge Full Band and stop McKinsey one way or another."

I extended a hand and he looked at it before clasping it and giving a firm shake. Count gave a quiet resolute nod, "Okay. And Trigger? Thanks."

"Righto," I answered, using his own catchphrase.

After that, nothing more needed to be said. The two of us remained sitting on our crates gazing at the night sky, saying a prayer for Full Band and for fortitude in what was sure to be our next great undertaking.

* * *

The next few days, there was a noticeable change around the Zapland air base. A transport plane came in and the way our unit was treated improved. We found out we were picking up and moving operations to a new theater. Avril had mentioned she heard talk that elements of our base were being moved west to Tyler Island near the space elevator in southwestern Usea. If Full Band's intel was to be believed, then these events were lining up with McKinsey's apparent plans to turn sides on August 5th. He had claimed McKinsey would be going somewhere east while everything else was sent off in the opposite direction. For what purpose, we couldn't be certain. Through Tabloid, I learned that Avril had secured a seat on one of two transports heading east with McKinsey. How she did it, she wouldn't say but I figured her information on the colonel's whereabouts could be useful if she remained nearby. I almost had to laugh at myself. I was starting to plan and scheme like Full Band now.

I put that aside when our squadron was called back to HQ for another mission briefing. At this point, I wondered if it was more apt to call ourselves Spare Flight, rather than Spare Squadron after taking so many casualties. Regardless, Tabloid, Count, and I reported and wore stone cold expressions as we met McKinsey and sat in for what might well be our final briefing with him. He folded his hands and regarded us with a hard look, "All right boys, I've received a communication from the General Staff Office. It seems your ability to carry out missions has gotten the attention of the higher ups. They have offered to grant you all pardons. Upon completion of this next mission, the Osean Air Force Base 444 Squadron will be officially legit. Our unit will be moved to help take back the base on Tyler Island in Southwestern Usea. The battle is already underway, but fighting remains active in the north. The fact that we've gained new ground, is still a blessing. My time as CO of this penal base is now over. Elements of my command personnel, including myself are being moved to a base in Far Eastern Usea. However, we will be stopping to refuel in Bulgardarest in Erusean territory. Even if we detoured, we would still have to fly through Erusea in the end."

So that was his plan, I thought quietly to myself. If McKinsey was going to defect, this was the perfect time and place to do it. The pieces were all set up and he expected us to play our part like stooges. The colonel continued, "This is where Spare Squadron comes into play. I will need your unit to provide support. I will give you further instructions once you're all prepped for flight. That's all. Dismissed."

As we adjourned and rose, McKinsey called out, "Hey Trigger! Wait right there!"

I stopped and faced him down as he marched right up to my face, "Though I'm not entirely happy about this arrangement, your job will be to protect my transport with your life. The General Staff Office seems to have some interest in you, but why they would is beyond me. You are still covered in Harling's blood and as far as I'm concerned, you are still expendable until you complete this mission. If you or your mangy wingmen even breathe in a way I don't like while we're up there, I'll have your ass shot out of the damn sky. Is that understood?"

I met his eyes with an icy defiant glare of my own before saluting, "Perfectly, sir. Will that be all?"

McKinsey snorted and stalked off leaving me and my wingmates to prepare for this last assignment as Spare Squadron.

* * *

Some time later, my wingmen and I suited up and entered the hangers to prepare for our flight. By now, most of our personal belongings were being shipped off with the other transports and that was fine. I didn't have anything of real value, nor did I really keep much anyway. Before I left my room, I did make sure to take Full Band's spare thumbdrive that he had hidden under my bed. I now kept it safely tucked away in a breast pocket of my flightsuit. As I waited for my friends to catch up with me, I patted my pocket to make sure the item was safe and muttered quietly. "Don't worry Full Band. We won't let you down."

In my other pocket, I had taken the magazine picture of Princess Rosa from our room and folded it up for safekeeping. I know it was probably a silly thing to do, but I didn't care either. I patted my other pocket where the picture was stowed and murmured to myself, "Wish us luck Princess. We're going to need it today."

When Tabloid and Count joined me, they looked just as nervous and grim. Tabloid cleared his throat, "You guys ready?"

Count nodded, "We have to be. This may very well be it. If I had to guess, McKinsey probably plans to get rid of us the moment we stop being useful to him."

"As long as he doesn't know that we already know," I agreed, "Remember, we have to wait for the right moment when we can justify taking him out. If we're going to convince the Osean Air Force we're on the level, we can't look like the aggressors. At least not yet."

The other two gave quiet nods and we shook hands, "Good luck gentlemen. One way or another, we're going to earn our freedom today."

As we split off and headed to our planes, Tabloid made a detour to one of the transport planes that was finishing loading up. Near the rear loading ramp, he caught Avril who was handing off some of her own luggage to the loading crew. She turned in surprise when she saw him, "Tabloid? What are you doing here? I thought you were going to sortie out with the other Spares soon."

"I am," he replied, "But I guess I just wanted to see you off before you left. You're going to be flying in the second transport plane following McKinsey, right?"

She nodded, "Yeah. While he is a big dickhead, I figure wherever the colonel's going can't be anywhere near as bad as a warzone in Tyler Island. You guys are going to be flying as our escorts?"

"Yes. I guess I just wanted to tell you to be careful out there. We'll be skirting Erusean territory and things might get a little dicey."

She curled her features with a sarcastic smirk, "I appreciate the concern but I'm not a little girl Tabloid. I won't scare easy."

He nodded and reached into a small bag he carried with the rest of his flight gear, "Right. I know. It's just that there's still a lot of uncertainty about this mission so I wanted you to hold on to something for me."

He handed her one of his books. She took it in surprise, "What's this?"

"Just a little something to put your mind at ease during the flight... a little light reading for you."

He gave a nod and headed off to his fighter leaving Avril to shake her head with a ghost of a smile on her features, "What a dumbass."


	13. Breaking Point

A few hours later, our small aerial convoy had cruised into mainland Usea and made our way toward our destination. As we neared the borders of Bulgardarest, the skies had grown much darker and cloudier as they set in over the landscape. We were flying over low mountainous terrain which was covered in thick forests. Judging by the rolling terrain, I couldn't help but think that these would be perfect places to set up SAM sites to ambush passing aircraft. Count, Tabloid and I flew in close formation alongside the two transport planes designated Roper 1 and 2. Colonel Mckinsey's aircraft led the way while Bandog had taken a seat aboard that plane to continue acting as our AWACs controller.

While we continued to cruise along, Tabloid radioed in with a tense edge in his voice, "Well, so far so good. All's clear but this cloud cover is getting a little worrisome."

"Hey Tabloid, how's this for an order? Relax. You're going to jinx us all here," Count mumbled with equal trepidation.

"Actually, your orders on this one are quite simple," Bandog chimed in, "Kill anyone trying to harm the colonel, even if it's one of ours."

It was no surprise Count went for a cutting retort, "Like how you killed Full Band?"

Bandog gave a growl of irritation, "I told you it was an accident, so shut up!"

We heard the speakers get pulled way and a new voice greeted us, "Gimme that! Spare Squadron, this is McKinsey. I want you idiots to understand the gravity of this operation. My orders are to take priority and you will do exactly as I say. That is all you need to know."

"Gee, I sure wish our cargo would shut up," I muttered sarcastically over the radio to my wingmen while making it loud enough for McKinsey to hear me.

Bandog took his radio back, "Spare 15. Spare 2. Why don't you two make yourselves useful. Instead of flapping your gums, go keep an eye out for enemy SAM sites."

As much as I hated to admit it, Bandog did make a fair point. I throttled ahead and called out to Tabloid, "Count? Let's scout ahead. Tabloid, if we spot anything, it's up to you to mop it up."

"Roger that," Tabloid answered as he fell back to do a flyby of Roper 2. From one of the passenger windows, Avril sat and looked out, spotting Tabloid's plane. She gave a small wave and went back to reading the book he had loaned her. Some distance away, Count and I flew ahead to survey the area when our radars pinged several Erusean weapon emplacements along some ridgelines that were half buried in the woods.

"Looks like we've got company after all," I said as Count and I strafed some of the targets, "Bandog, I'm tagging the SAM sites now. Relay this to Tabloid when the convoy makes its approach."

"Acknowledged."

As we took out a few more sites with a combination of gunfire and missiles, Count spoke quietly as he rejoined me at the wing, "I don't know about this Trigger. There aren't too many weapon sites here but we were loaded down with a ton of ordnance for this mission. You think they know something we don't?"

"Let's just hope we don't have to use all of it," I agreed as I watched Tabloid shoot down a few surface to air missiles that threatened the convoy. Once we had spotted the smoke trails of the missiles, Count and I were quick to pounce while Tabloid mopped up the enemy ground units we missed. We could already hear McKinsey's irritated voice in our comms.

"Can't you clowns do anything right? Those missiles were too close for comfort!"

The rest of Spare Squadron knew better. From our vantage point, the missiles that were fired at Roper 1 all seemed to go wide. Although we Spares didn't dare to verbally communicate it over the radio for fear of Bandog hearing us, we all wondered if those attacks were all just for show. We cruised along a few more miles until we heard McKinsey over the comms, "We're almost there! Once we're at the border, we're safe. Now hurry up!"

Spare Squadron formed up again and no sooner did we reach the edge of Bulgurdarest air space, Roper 1 abruptly changed direction to hear further north. Tabloid decided to cast the bait, "Colonel McKinsey... your aircraft is headed in the wrong direction, sir."

"No son, we're headed in the right direction, but where I'm going, the rest of you can't follow," the colonel laughed with a hint of malevolence in his voice, "In fact, Spare Squadron has served its purpose so I'm going to pardon all of you myself... or rather, my new friends will."

At that moment, we could see a large flight of Erusean fighters enter the area and emerge from the distant clouds to engage us. I decided to keep McKinsey talking, "So it is true. Full Band was right. You are selling out to the Eruseans, aren't you Colonel?"

"I'm just looking out for number one here," McKinsey answered, "Your friend Full Band was right about one thing. In war, intel is everything. If only the rest of Osea had any idea of the weapons that the Eruseans are going to field, you'll see you're fighting a hopeless battle. With my knowledge of our forces' dispositions, it will only end the war faster for everyone. These nice Erusean gentlemen here are going to be my new escort and they'll make sure you won't be able to tell anyone what happened here either."

Our missile lock warning sirens went off and Spare Squadron hastily scattered to take evasive action and avoid fire. Count growled and fired a missile directly back at Roper 1 but it scattered some of its flares to ward off the attack. McKinsey laughed again as we engaged the Erusean bandits in a dogfight, "I have to give you Spares some credit. You're like cockroaches. You're more resourceful and resilient than I thought and it's been damn near impossible to kill all of you yet."

"So you were setting us up after all?" Tabloid gasped as he chased a bandit, "At Yinshi, at Wiapolo, and now here."

"To think, not even an Erusean veteran ace or an experimental missile was enough to take you convicts out," McKinsey chortled, "Still, I have no doubt the data recorded from your battles will benefit the Erusean drone program even more."

"I don't know what you're talking about but we've beaten the drones before. We can do it again," I growled in reply but McKinsey only laughed.

"If only you knew what was really going on Trigger. You're way in over your head. All of you."

The enemy fighters moved to engage us again and we responded in kind, "Tabloid, stay close to Roper 2 and keep an eye on McKinsey. Count? You're with me."

"Righto. Let's take out the trash," he answered as our fighters danced in the air in a duel with the Eruseans. We darted in and out of the thick wet cloud banks, rolling and looping in a deadly game of tag. I fired off some flares to ward off an offending missile as I momentarily stalled my plane to get around a pursuing Erusean. I countered with a heatseeking missile of my own, but he shook it off with some flares as well before breaking right.

Amid the screaming fighters streaking through the skies, Count and I regrouped and criss-crossed through each other's flight paths to throw off our enemies and then opened up with gunfire from our cannons. My bullets hit one of the Eruseans and damaged it causing the pilot to veer away while Count's shots punched holes in the fuselage of the bandit's wingman. It spiraled toward the ground trailing smoke before crashing into the woodlands. I could hear him give a tense chuckle, "Alright! Splash one!"

"Nice shooting Count," I called as we doubled back to try and help Tabloid who was screening the second transport from the enemy attackers.

He remained close harrying any Erusean that got near making sure to conserve his remaining missiles. As Count I raced back to assist, Count gave a shout of encouragement, "Hang on buddy. We're coming!"

Tabloid gave a grunt of frustration while the enemy continued to buzz by and try to goad him from leaving his position. From the distance, I could see McKinsey's transport changing course again while a new type of Erusean fighter entered the airspace. The futuristic aircraft had a menacing forward sweeping wing configuration and looked like nothing we had ever seen before. It had sharp lines sleek and exuded an aura of danger around it. Unfortunately, our hands were already full and this new threat was only making matters worse. I radioed my friends, "Spare Squadron, we have a new enemy inbound. Tally one more bandit!"

Count squinted, "What the hell is that thing? Is that a drone fighter? It looks like it's on steroids or something."

"Don't worry about me! Go after McKinsey!" Tabloid called back.

"Are you sure? We can't just leave you!" Count protested toward his comrade.

Tabloid replied in a calm resolved voice, "We're playing for the high score here Count. Go after the big points."

"Righto. Trigger, cover me?"

I formed up on his wing and prepared to throttle past the incoming super drone leading the enemy fighters that grouped around it, "Roger that. I'll clear your path Count."

Before either of us could make our charge, we were shocked when we saw the super drone fire a missile directly at the second transport plane Avril and the other command staff was on. My eyes went wide and my heart stopped as I saw the missile streak past leaving a dark smoke trail in the skies. "Roper 2, missile incoming! Evade! Evade!"

The projectile whistled through the air and curved directly toward the transport… until Tabloid did the unthinkable. He swerved his plane abruptly and put his aircraft right in the way of the incoming missile to absorb the hit. There was a loud blast as his fighter reeled sideways and his left wing shredded off. I gave an alarmed cry to my friend, my cellmate, and my wingman, "Tabloid! No!"

Count erupted in a panicked cry as well while we watched Tabloid's fighter crash toward the ground trailing a plume of fire and shrapnel. From the windows of the transport plane, Avril gave a shout with wide eyes and and frantically pounded at the window as she saw Tabloid's plane go down in flames.

"Tabloid! Are you there? Damn it! Answer me!" I called furiously trying to hail him but all I got on my radio from him was static. That was when I heard Count's voice cut in sharply and bring me back to reality.

"Trigger! Focus! We've still got a battle to fight here!"

I blinked and looked back to my last remaining wingman. He was right. This was it. At that very moment, we were all that was left of Spare Squadron.

"Two of us against their six? Hardly seems like a fair fight… for them," Count observed trying to hide his fear with bravado, "What do you say boss?"

I checked my fuel and munitions. If Count and I engaged in a final dogfight here, we probably wouldn't have enough fuel to make it to a safe base. That was okay though. We had made a promise and right now, only one thing mattered. We were going to end things today. We would avenge Tabloid and all our other fallen brothers in Spare Squadron. Then we were coming for Colonel McKinsey himself. "Roger that Count. Stay close. We're going to fly right into the mouth of hell itself!"

We charged in and tangled with the remaining enemies as the drone streaked by spraying gunfire from several different angles at once. Count and I tumbled clear and quickly dispatched two of the enemy fighters that followed it. I pulled my stick and changed speed, trying to get a bead on the drone, "Damn! That thing is fast!"

"I'll watch your six and mop up the last fighters," Count called while I went to challenge the drone. My new enemy quickly changed direction in midair and met my charge with blinding speed. I gritted my teeth as I felt some stray gunfire rake the hull of my Hornet and do some damage. I followed suit and resolved to finish the fight, even if it had drawn first blood. I remembered my battle with Mr. X and how swift and evasive he was. This drone was almost as good and seemed to fly with a similar kind of style. Still, I noticed that it took its turns a little bit slower and favored a few angles over others.

We tumbled and rolled in midair and just keeping track of the drone required all my concentration. I was glad Count was dealing with the other enemy fighters as I drowned everything out a focused on this one deadly enemy, and of all things... a lifeless drone. We had already lost too many pilots to these automatons I refused to let them win. I tracked it patiently and matched its movements waiting for just the right angle and moment to fire. As the drone accelerated and went into a steep climb, I found my opening. I launched two missiles at once and unloaded a stream of gunfire at the thing and tagged it just enough to let the missiles catch up and kill it in midair. The drone burst apart into a fiery cloud and its flaming shrapnel rained down like a cloud as I flew through it a gasped in relief. "Target destroyed! The drone is splashed!"

Once I reoriented myself, Count swept in and joined me, "So are the fighter escorts. That leaves one to go."

We both turned our eyes to the transport plane lumbering in the distance below us and we took off after it. Without wasting any more time or effort, Count and I closed in on Roper 1 and we flanked it like wolves to make sure it couldn't escape. Between the two of us, we only had a couple missiles left, but those would be enough for what we were going to do. We drew close and lined up visual shots for our missiles as McKinsey's voice came in over our radios with an edge, "What do you boys think you're playing at? Stop this at once! Do you know what you're doing?"

"Yes sir. We are dealing with a traitor and murderer," I said calmly but the colonel only fumed more.

"Is that some kind of joke Trigger? Coming from the murderer of Harling himself? You're going to be talking down to me right now?"

"With respect Colonel, it takes a murderer to know a murderer," I played along.

The colonel's voice became a little more panicked, "Hold on… Trigger. Count. Don't do this. Maybe we could work something out? I can pull some strings for you guys and…"

"Take your bribes and shove them up your ass Colonel," Count spat in contempt, "You pose a greater threat to Osea the longer you're alive."

"Why you little… you two are going to pay for this! You hear me?" McKinsey snarled in impotent fury.

Count and I armed our missiles as I nodded, "It's a price we're willing to pay."

I hit the trigger on my joystick and fired a missile which hit one of the wings of Roper 1 and caused two of its jet turbines to explode. The large transport listed and wobbled in midair for a precarious moment before Count set up the kill shot. He squared up and fired his own missile, "This is for Full Band… and the rest of Spare Squadron."

The missile hit the other wing of the transport and blew it apart causing Roper 1 to fall from the skies. We watched as the transport carrying Colonel McKinsey and Bandog plummeted to the ground and plowed into the wooded mountainside. A great explosion of fire and shrapnel radiated out as the transport was utterly obliterated. Count and I lowered and speed and did a flyby over the wreckage as Roper 2 caught up to us and sailed along our side. No doubt the people in that plane were shocked by what happened and probably asking themselves why we did what we did. Then again, they were probably too scared to even challenge us for fear we would turn our missiles on them and relegate them to the same fate.

I breathed a long sigh or relief, even though I wore a solemn expression. In a sense, this whole ordeal with the penal unit was finally over, even if it resulted in the death of our CO. I wasn't happy about what we did, but I felt it was justified. Perhaps my time in the penal unit had changed me too. Were I still an officer in the Osean Air Force, I would have recoiled at the very thought of carrying out a summary execution like this, even if it was for a dangerous traitor like McKinsey. But during this time of deprivation and having nothing else to lose, I had learned something from my fellow convicts. I had learned how to be pragmatic, how to be cold blooded when I needed to, and most importantly, I learned how to survive when I had nothing else to rely on.

I leaned back in my seat and radioed Count, "You realize that we've just killed an Air Force colonel, right?"

"Yeah… I imagine we're going to be getting a LOT of solitary for this one," Count replied.

There was a long pause and in spite of ourselves, the two of us began to laugh hysterically at his dark but absurd joke. He was probably thinking the same thing. This was a catharsis of all the tension and stress we had been under finally evaporating with the dissolution of our penal unit.

We suddenly got a transmission on our radios and heard Avril's voice calling us from Roper 2. Knowing her, she probably took the radio by force from the comm operator, "Trigger! Count! Are you guys okay? What the hell is going on? We just saw you guys take out the colonel and the flight officer here is totally freaking out!"

"It's a long story Avril," I said, "Trust us. We had our reasons. If we can make it back to Bulgardarest, hopefully we can explain."

"Let's just hope the Osean Air Force hasn't come to tie the nooses around our necks right now," Count pointed out as he noted several new contacts entering the area. We saw a flight of Osean F-15C's approaching over the horizon. They must have been called in by Roper 2 when they saw all the insanity that just went down over the valley. We remained in a holding pattern until we heard their leader radio us.

"This is Major Wiseman of the Osean 122nd Fighter Squadron. What is going on here?"

I sat up in surprise. The 122nd? Weren't they some of the pilots who we had saved at the Yinshi Valley?

"Cyclops Squadron?" I asked, "This is Spare 15. We've had a bit of an incident here."

"I can see," Maj. Wiseman noted as he saw the flaming wreckage of Roper 1 below, "Spare 15? You're that crazy pilot from Yinshi, aren't you? The one who took on that Erusean ace, Mister X?"

I nodded and steered my plane to join the new Oseans, "Yes sir. That's me. I'm afraid I've got a hell of a story to tell you."

"Did it have anything to do with an advanced drone?" Wiseman asked, "Our squad had been pursuing it and trying to intercept."

Count spoke up, "Trigger here downed the drone, sir. It's been destroyed."

"Well you both can tell me all about it back in Bulgardarest," Wiseman said, "In the mean time, I'm going to call in some search and recovery teams to salvage the wreckage."

I cleared my throat, "Sir? We lost one of our escorts in the battle, a pilot with the call sign Tabloid. We think he might still be out there... or at least his remains."

"Understood. Let's get a move on then. All aircraft form up on me and return to base."

As the remains of our convoy formed up alongside Cyclops Squadron, I wondered what happened to Tabloid and if they would even find him alive out there. I touched my pocket where I carried Full Band's stolen data and I worried about having to defend our actions here to the authorities. Most of all, I worried about the troubling words of McKinsey and what was yet to come in this war. What kind of new threat were these Erusean drones going to pose? For now, it was probably for the best to take one challenge at a time, starting with arriving in Bulgardarest in one piece.

* * *

 **A/N:**  
 **That's right everyone, I killed Col. McKinsey. I regret nothing. ;)**

 **Stand by readers. To be concluded in the next chapter.**


	14. Saints and Sinners

Upon our arrival to the allied air base in Bulgurdarest, Count and I were held and questioned by the command staff regarding the incident around the valley. There were several Osean officers who were present on the base and they relayed the news to the General Staff Office. I had also turned over the thumbdrive of data that Full Band had entrusted to me in order to back up our case about Col. McKinsey's treachery. I couldn't be sure just how much of our intel he had leaked to the Eruseans, nor could I tell how much he really knew of their capabilities.

Over the course of two days, Count and I were kept separated and we underwent multiple marathon length interrogations. As I sat through them and answered as honestly as I could, I kept reminding myself that this was the last stretch. I had made it this far. I had survived my time at Zapland and the several suicide missions McKinsey had Spare Squadron fly. This was my last trial, and it would be a mental one. I had been through Bandog's version of solitary and if they were going to impose a little more of it here in Bulgurdarest, then so be it. I could live with that.

On one such day, I lay on my cot within my barren room staring at the ceiling and letting my mind wander. I let myself wonder exactly how I had gotten here. I thought about my first feelings of innocence and hope while flying with Mage Squadron. I thought about the loss of that innocence and the unlikely bonds I then forged with my fellow convicts in Spare Squadron; people who were rough around the edges, but also had some redeeming traits as well. I thought about those comrades who were lost. I thought of Brownie, High Roller, Champ, Full Band, and especially Tabloid. I had grown used to him as my cellmate and I now realized that I sorely missed him and his good humor for times like this. But then I spared a thought about those I had killed.

I still believe I hadn't killed President Harling at the Lighthouse. I had admired the man and was there to protect him. If I had ever really committed a cold blooded murder, it was of Colonel McKinsey and of Bandog. I can't say I regretted my choice either. I had probably saved the lives of many other fellow Oseans, but would it save enough to end this war? Perhaps I had become a rabid dog myself during my time in the penal unit. Whether or not that was true right now was out of my hands. All I could do was to sit and wait.

I idly dug around in my jumpsuit and stopped when I remembered I still carried the folded picture of Princess Rosa in my breast-pocket. Aside from a toothbrush, blanket, a change of clothes, and a bar of soap, these were my only worldly possessions in this depressing cell.

I unfolded the paper and gave a small smile while looking at the picture, "Well Princess, maybe you're not so bad for an Erusean after all. Seems like you helped save me out there in that last battle. Maybe you could give me just a little more luck, huh?"

I folded the picture again and put it back in my pocket before settling back into my cot. A few minutes later, I heard footsteps when some guards came to my cell door along with Major Wiseman. He was carrying a small briefcase and I blinked in surprise before getting up to my feet to give a respectful salute, "Major Wiseman? I… what are you doing here, sir?"

The older dark skinned man nodded to the guards and gave me a kind smile as he entered, "I'm here to deliver some news, son. It looks like you have some people looking out for you in high places. There's been a lot of talk among the senior officers here and the General Staff Office over your reports. After going over all the reports, it seems like your story checks out with your friend Count's and the intel you provided us on that storage device. It looked like Col. McKinsey was in fact colluding with the Eruseans and planning to defect when you stopped him. It's unfortunate you were forced to kill him, but the senior officers of High Command seem to think you did them a big favor."

"Thank you, sir. I'm glad to hear that and all, but what does that mean for me and Count? I imagine we can't be court-martialed any further. We were already in a penal unit to begin with."

Wiseman reached into his briefcase and pulled out a file folder with some official looking papers, "That will change. You may soon be offered official pardons and have your records expunged."

I blinked in confusion, "Wait... what? Major, I don't understand."

Wiseman opened the folder and handed it to me. It looked like an official government report and summary of an investigation. "McKinsey's leaks have suggested that the Erusean drone program is much more sophisticated than we first believed. If he leaked info and assisted them in instances like your ambush in the Wiapolo Mountains, it confirms a theory that the Erusean drone network can mimic and fool our IFFs. If that's the case, then it's likely you weren't actually the one who killed Harling at the Lighthouse. The General Staff Office seems to think you're innocent in light of this."

I was suddenly feeling very lightheaded. My time in Purgatory was finally over and I could see the light at the end of the tunnel, "Sir? I'm being reinstated back to active duty? I can fly with the Osean regulars again?"

"We may need a few days to sort out all the paperwork and the red tape, but that's the way it's looking," Wiseman said, "The General Staff Office said it owes you a favor so if you have a request..."

"I do," I said quickly. Maybe a little too quickly.

Wiseman regarded me with an amused look and folded his arms, "All right. Shoot."

"I'd like to have my remaining friends from Spare Squadron pardoned and assigned to my same outfit," I said, "For Count and for Avril Mead. They're good people and I can vouch for their characters. I can trust them sir, and I believe you can too."

He seemed be impressed with that and gave a nod, "All right... I'll see what I can do about that. In the mean time, if you're going to rejoin the ranks of the Air Force, we'll have to do this right."

Wiseman looked me up and down while I stood at attention, "All right Trigger. Today is the day you're born again. Today you get your name back. 1st Lieutenant Thomas Richter, stand to."

I straightened my posture and saluted. I hadn't shaved in two days and I already started to look just as scruffy as my fellow Spares. Doing this for Wiseman made me remember what it was like to be in formation, to do uniform inspections, and to be addressed by my real name. It reminded me what it was like to be treated like a human again. God, it had seemed like it had been forever ago, "Sir!"

Major Wiseman stepped toward me and studied me, "From here on, I have plans to place you and your friend Count under my direction in the LRSSG, the Long Range Strategic Strike Group. Do you think you can live with that arrangement?"

"Yes sir! Thank you sir!"

"Good," he nodded, "Because if you're going to be serving in this new position, you're going to be needing something first."

To my shock, he produced a small case and opened it revealing double bar collar pins. Wiseman handed the case to me, "Because we're in need of talented veteran pilots right now, we're reinstating your officer commission and promoting you to the rank of Captain."

I stood speechless and gawked at the pins in my hand. In a way it was funny that such a small pair of objects could mean so much to someone right now. Those rank pins signified redemption for me and a second chance at life again. "I… Major... I don't know what to say. Thank you."

We exchanged another salute and he shook my hand before looking around the room, "I don't know about you, but I have to say this place isn't quite suitable for an officer. I'll see what I can do about getting you situated in better housing with Count. In the mean time, I have a feeling you might want go speak with him and your other wingmate."

I raised an eyebrow in confusion, "Sir? Other wingmate?"

Wiseman's lip curled slightly into a warm paternal grin of amusement as he led me out of the cell, "I understand Count went over to the base's hospital not too long ago to see someone. During our search of the valley, we managed to recover some bits of the enemy drone that you shot down, along with another survivor. It seems your friend Tabloid wasn't ready to buy the farm just yet either."

I blinked in silent shock, "You can't be serious! Tabloid survived?"

Wiseman grinned and clapped me on the shoulder, "If you don't believe me, maybe you should go ask him yourself."

* * *

I thanked Maj. Wiseman again and hurried out of the detention center before rushing across the base grounds. I wasn't exactly sure where I was going, but after some trial and error, I finally found the medical facilities. When I finally reached the hospital and headed upstairs I found the correct medical ward with the help of a nurse and entered only to find Count and Avril already sitting in the room beside the bedside of Tabloid.

"Tabloid!" I exclaimed happily as I walked over to his bedside with a bit of awe on my face, "I can't believe my eyes. You're here!"

He gave me a tired grin and clasped my hand to give it a firm shake, "I know! I could barely believe it myself. When I took that missile, I thought I was a goner, but it turns out I was able to eject and parachute down just in time."

He gestured to his right leg which was bound in a cast and he sighed, "Unfortunately, it cost me a little. I still came down a little fast and broke a bunch of bones in the fall so I don't think I'm going to be joining you in the skies any time soon."

"That's okay, now we can have two gimpy mechanics who can service our fighters and assist us on the ground," Count smiled as he patted Tabloid on the shoulder.

Avril gave Count a mild frown and flipped him the bird before turning to Tabloid with a softer look, "Hey... that was a real dumbass thing you did back there. You know that?"

My wingman shrugged and smiled sheepishly, "Yeah... well, I guess if I was able to do something good and not have to fly for a while now, then I guess it was worth it."

"I... um, thanks." Avril then reached into a small bag that she carried and handed him his book back, "Here. I kept it safe like you asked me to. Now I think you could probably use it."

Count and I exchanged a quiet smile but decided not to say anything at the sentimental exchange. There would be plenty of time to catch Tabloid up on the events that were going on, so we decided it was best to let him rest for the remainder of the day. Before leaving the hospital, I told Count and Avril everything that Major Wiseman had spoken to me about and they seemed thrilled at the developments. For once, everyone's luck was starting to turn.

As Count, Avril, and I stepped outside and made our way to a grassy lawn on the base grounds, we saw that the skies were clear and blue. The light of a bright renewing sun was shining down on all of us again. I like to think that it was a good omen. That the warm light on our faces was one that would bring healing, cleansing, and a fresh new start for all of us moving forward. Avril seemed to notice my pause and touched my shoulder, "Trigger? Hey, what were you thinking just now?"

I turned to my two new friends and gave a faint shrug, "I was just thinking about how great it was to be free again, and how great it will be to get back up there too."

"Where you're truly free?" Avril asked quietly, "It's hard to imagine that with the sky looking as beautiful as that right now, a terrible war is still going on."

I nodded in agreement as the three of us looked back up to the skies,"This war is far from over, but I know if we have some faith... we'll be able to see it through."

"Stick with Trigger and we'll make it, huh?" Count teased me gently, "That's what Tabloid would say if he were here right now."

"You don't believe it?" Avril countered him, "Trigger here's already saved your ass a couple times now. Hell, he's offered to get us pardoned too."

My wingman gave a reluctant sigh and nudged me gently with his elbow, "Well... I didn't think too much of that motto at first. But I admit, it's starting to grow on me a little."

"I guess that makes us the lucky ones among the Spares," I said as a gentle wind blew and I kept my eyes on the heavens, "High Roller? Champ? Full Band? I'm sorry you guys couldn't be with us to see this right now... but the sight of these open blue skies? It's a hell of sight."

Count nodded in agreement and joined me in addressing our missing comrades, "We had a wild ride, but I do want to say thanks for helping us get this far. Rest easy guys."

Avril looked quietly to the bright skies, thinking of both her father and the fallen members of Spare Squadron. Although she may not have known the other Spares like we did, we couldn't help but agree with her own sentiment as she gave a faint smile and spoke to the winds, "Adios, you damn fools."

Fin

* * *

 **A/N:**  
 **I want to give a HUGE thank you to all the wingmen who joined up with me to fav, follow, and review this story. I've been amazed at just how supportive and passionate the AC community is around here. Seriously, you guys are awesome! I also want to say thank you to all the "Nuggets" who have been lurking and silently reading out there too.** **I had a blast writing this expanded novelization of the Spare Squadron arc and I hope you enjoyed it too. To everyone, feel free to let me know what you thought of this fic! Did you love it? Did you hate it? Should I be given sin lines and thrown in solitary?**

 **Eventually, I'd like to continue this with a sequel arc on Trigger's adventures with the LRSSG and Strider Squadron. No promises yet as to when, but for now I need some time to rest up and recover from writing this story. Until then, I'll just end it like Pixy by saying goodbye for now "and thanks friend… see you again." ;)**


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